PS 3531 

. 1354 
|G8 
1 1920 
Copy 1 



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AKER'S EDITION 
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The Guest Retainer 

Price, 35 cents 




WALTER H' BAKERS' CD 
BOSTON 



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«F 



Plays for Colleges and High Schools 



The A!r Spy 

Bachelor Hall 

The College Chap 

The ColoneFs Maid 

Daddy 

The Deacon's Second Wife 

The District Attorney 

The Dutch Detective 

At the Sign of the Shooting Star 

The Elopement of Ellen 

Engaged by Wednesday 

The Chuzzlewitts, or Tom Pinch 

For One Night Only 

Hamilton 

Constantine Pueblo Jones 

Excuse Me 

The Hoodoo 

The Hurdy Qurdy Girl 

Katy Did 

Let's Get Married 

London Assurance 

Lost a Chaperon 

A Foul Tip 

The Man Who Went 

The Man Without a Country 

Master Pierre Patelin 

How Jim Made Good 

Just Plain Mary » 

Line Busy 

Mr. Bob 

Mrs. Briggs of the Poultry Yard 

Nathan Hale 

Patty Makes Things Hum 

Professor Pepp 

A Regiment of Two 

The Private Tutor 

The Rivals 

Silas Marner 

When a Feller Needs a Friend 

Sally Lunn 

The School for Scandal 

She Stoops to Conquer 

Step Lively 

The Submarine Shell 

The Thirteenth Star 

The Time of His Life 

Tommy's Wife 

The Twig of Thorn 

The Amazons 

The Conjurer 



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4 
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BAKER, Hamilton Place, Boston, Mass* 






The Guest Retainer 

A Farce in Three Acts 



By 

CARL WEBSTER ^lERCE 

Author of "A Lady to Call,'' etc. 



NOTE 



The professional rights in this play are strictly reserved and 
application for the right to produce it should be made to the 
author in care of the publishers. Amateurs may produce it with- 
out payment of royalty on condition that the name of the author 
appears on all programmes and advertising issued in connection 
with such performances. 




Xt tBosTONl hr 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 

1920 



The Guest Retainer 



CHARACTERS 

t' A Verne {P^'op^^^tors of the Hotel Jerskeet. 

Ima Brayer, 

Cassandra McArty. 

Owen Coffin. 

Richard Archibald Simpson. 

Birdie Lark, **The Eaglet.'' 

Hopper. 

SYNOPSIS 

Scene. Lobby of the Hotel Jerskeet, somewhere in New Jersey. 

Act L Morning of July 15. 

Act H. Two weeks later. 

Act HL Morning of August 15. 

Plays Two Hours 




Copyright, 1920, by Carl Webster Pierce 

As author and proprietor. . 



AWstage and moving picture rights reserved 

©CID 55732 
a£l -9 1920 



The Guest Retainer 



ACT I * 

SCENE. — Lobby of Hotel Jerskeet, morning of July 75. 
Hotel desk l. Telephone, register, account book, and 
large number of bills on desk. House telephone and 
mail rack on wall behind desk. Divan r. c. Chairs 
scattered around. Furnishings not very elegant or 
complete. Entrances c. by zuide arched doorway; r. 
from veranda; and l., just above desk, by door marked 
^^ Private." Tell discovered on stool behind desk, 
fluttering bills. Telephone rings. 

Tell (savagely) . Hello ! What ? No ! (Slams 

up receiver and turns to bills again.) What's the use of 
living! 

(Crumples up bills and stuffs them into drawer. Opens 
account book and pores over it. Verne heard off c. 
whistling ''In the Good Old Summertime.") 

Enter Verne, c. 

Verne (casually). How they coming this morning, 
Harry ? • 

Tell (glaring at him). Don't talk to me; I'm about 
crazy. 

Verne. What's on your mind — anything special ? 

Tell. Ye gods ! Have you no sense of responsibility 
whatever? You've been wandering around here long 
enough doing nothing but ask "What's worrying you?" 
If you don't give a darn about yourself, think of the mess 
that you have gotten me into. 

3 



4 THE GUEST RETAINER 

Verne {sprawls lazily on divan). Keep cool, Harry. 
What's the specific complaint to-day? 

Tell {pulls hills from drawer). Look at this. Bills, 
bills, bills ! I don't think that I've ever seen so many in 
my life as I have this summer; and they are all higher 
than ever. Business is on the blink. The only thing that 
progresses around here is the debit account. This thing 
is getting on my nerves. 

Verne {calmly). Let's see, season's about a quarter 
gone; capital most gone; practically no guests to go. If 
something doesn't happen, and happen soon, we might as 
well close up and go ourselves. That's about the situa- 
tion, isn't it? 

Tell. You must be crazy to be able to talk so coolly. 
When you were seized with the brilliant idea of taking 
over this old, run-down dump and making a paying 
proposition of it, in common language, I think that there 
was nobody home {taps his head) — that you were numb 
from the shoulders up. 

Verne. Now don't you worry, my boy. You have 
seen me try my hand at a variety of things, and I've 
never failed yet, have I ? 

Tell. Well, you've met your Waterloo this trip. 

Verne. Cheer up. Leave it to me. I'll soon "find out 
what the trouble is. 

Tell. Don't you know ? Look at the register and you 
will " soon find out.." 

Verne. Ah ! that's an inspiration ; I believe that all we 
need is a few more guests. 

Tell. What a marvelous deduction ! It's queer, but I 
arrived at that conclusion some time ago. 

Verne. Well then, let's start in and get some. 

Tell {dryly). I'm willing, if you are; but how shall 
we go about it? ^^^ 

Verne. I think that advertising - 

Tell {exploding again). I have my thoughts about 
advertising, too. If we had all the coin you have put 
into advertising without getting a single soul to stay here 
even over night, we could settle our bills with it. 

Verne. We must look around for some novel idea — 



THE GUEST RETAINER 5 

something that will attract the summer people in mobs — 
something original. 

Tell. And how in the name of the vSeven Sutherland 
Sisters can you get people to a summer hotel in New 
Jersey? Who in blazes wants to come here for a vaca- 
tion? I guess that we were suckers to buy this place. 
You were a fool to put your money into it, and I was a 
fool to let you convince me that it was the best invest- 
ment I could make. All my ducats gone for sand and 
mosquitoes ! That's all there is in this place. 

Verne. You have heard the saying that things go by 
threes, haven't you? We need something to make up the 
trio, so why not have guests? Sand, mosquitoes, and 
guests. How's that? 

Tell. If you can get any honest-to-goodness guests 
in this place, you have more brains than I give you 
credit for. 

Verne. To tell you the truth, I've been worried, too. 
But what's the use? Worry will only land you in the 
cemetery. Now I'll tell you a secret. I've a corking 
good scheme in mind ; in fact, it's under way. I am now 
awaiting developments. 

Tell. Not interested. I'm sick and tired of your 
everlasting schemes. 

Verne {enthusiastically). This is a good one. It is 
going to bring us some honest-to-goodness guests. 

Tell. I hope so from the bottom of my heart. 

Enter Ima Brayer c, carrying half a dozen nezvspapers 
under her arm. She is dressed very manmshly ; stiff 
collar, plain zvaist and skirt, heavy square-toed hoots. 
Her hair is brushed tightly hack; and she wears 
tortoise shell glasses. 

Ima. Gentlemen, read! {Thrusts a paper into the 
hands of each.) Did I not tell you that right would 
triumph ? See, a woman has been appointed sheriff. 
Why shouldn't she be ? A woman can stop crime quicker 
than a man. She can't be bribed. Man commits crime, 
and man bribes man to close his eyes. But a woman's 
eyes can't be closed. 



6 THE GUEST RETAINER 

Tell (aside). Nor her tongue stopped. 

-Ima. Down with tyrant man! Where is Mr. Coffin? 
I must spread the news. Mr. Coffin. Mr. Coffin. (Exit 
R. Off stage.) Down with tyrant man! 

Tell. Whew ! Some cyclone. 

Verne. She's not as bad as she seems. 

Tell. Say, did you remark that you could get some 
real guests around here ? 

Verne. I certainly did, brother. 

Tell. I hope so. Look at what just blew out. What 
have we around here now? A half dozen or so of the 
worst old fossils I have ever seen, and an assortment of 
the most marvelous females in existence. Look at that 
old scribbler who is always talking about love, heaven- 
made matches and all that sort of slush every time I get 
within hailing distance. You are immune because she 
knows that you are married, but it's torture for me. I 
have to run and dodge and hide from sunrise to sunset. 

Verne (laughs). Oh Harry, Harry! H you would 
only cultivate a sense of humor. You don't act a bit like 
yourself lately, you gloomy old grouch. Why not be 
light-hearted and care-free like yours truly? 

Tell. I'd like to see you retain your sweet disposition 
if you were hounded at every step by that two-penny 
authoress. Of all the sentimental slush. And I'm a 
married man. Do you realize that? I've been married 
scarcely a year, and you force me to carry on a flirtation 
with every forlorn female here. 

Verne. I wish that you could see yourself as others 
see you when Cassie gets you cornered. It's a sight for 
the gods. Really, it's what keeps me as cheerful as I am. 

Tell. You can't begin to realize what agony it is. 
You might at least tell her that I'm married. (Verne 
laughs.) I was a fool to promise you that I wouldn't 
change her impression on that score. What made her 
think that I am not, in the first place ? 

Verne. Don't you know? Thought I told you. She 
asked me pointblank if you were married, and I told 
her no for the sake of the business. 

Tell. Of all the nerve. Wouldn't my wife like that? 



THE GUEST RETAINER 7 

Verne. You would forgive me if you could have seen 
her face when I told her. She was so happy. It would 
be a shame to break the illusion; and besides, if she were 
to learn the truth now she would leave immediately, and 
we can't afford to have that happen. She pays in 
advance every Monday, you know. 

Tell. That is all that helps me stand it. I'm not 
crazy over being used as an entertainment bureau around 
here. 

Verne. We have got to make an attempt to hold the 
guests we have, and it is up to you to be the Romeo of 
this place. 

Tell. Why don't some of your old fossils forget 
their gout, lumbago, checkers, playwriting and other 
afflictions for a while, and make things lively ? This hotel 
is deader than the village graveyard. 

Verne. Don't you worry ; I'll guarantee that things 
will be very different very soon. 

Tell. I don't know what you have up your sleeve 
now, but I hope that it pans out O. K. 

Verne. We've got to make it agreeable for each and 
every guest we have to make a go of this place. We 
can't afford to lose one of them. I'm doing the best I 
can to keep affairs running smoothly. Take Miss Mc- 
Arty, for instance. I took pains to inform her that you 
were in the eligible class, and she sees great possibilities 
and therefore stays. Were it not for you she would get 
restless and drift away. 

Tell. You can bet your bottom dollar that I won't 
last out the rest of the season. 

Verne. You won't have to. My new idea will let you 
loose very soon. 

Tell. That is welcome news, but it is probably the 
best part of the plan. 

Verne. Listen, how much will you bet that I don't 
make a match between that retired undertaker and old 
suffragette Brayer? 

Tell. What ! You couldn't hire her to say two words 
pleasantly to any man. 

Verne. You leave it to me. The only reason that she 



THE GUEST RETAINER 

" hates " men so, is that she has never been successful in 
landing one. You watch the old undertaker vanish that 
" tyrant man " stuff. All this week I have been keeping 
them together as much as possible, — no one is aware of 
it of course, but I have gone out of my way to do it. 
This morning at breakfast he requested to be changed to 
her table. See my idea ? Keep every one happy and they 
will stay. 

Tell. Well Til be darned. 

Verne. That merely illustrates how I can handle 
things on a small scale. Now my scheme will take care 
of them en masse. 

Tell. How? Spring it. 

Verne. You will know soon. By this plan of mine 
guests will come flocking here in mobs, and you and I 
will sit back and smoke clear Havanas. 

(Rises and strolls carelessly around.) 

Tell. Tom, you are the most easy-going critter I 
know of. You almost inspire confidence. Here's hoping 
that you have figured so that we can get out of this mess 
with whole pocketbooks. 

Verne. Our pocketbooks will be stuffed, my boy. 
Don't you worry about that. I cut out worrying the day 

1 was born; it never does any good. 

Tell. Won't you let me in on the great plot which is 
to save our bacon ? 

Verne. You will know before the day is over. For 
once you seem really interested in what I say. 

Tell. I'll trv to be, but vou have such wild 
dreams 

Verne. This one is a pip. (Goes toward R. entrance.) 

Tell. I wish that I had your assurance ; I don't know 
but I should say nerve or gall. 

Verne. Watch me, then you'll know how next time. 

Enter Ima, r., brandishing' newspapers. She pushes 
Verne out of her way, and stops c. 

Ima. Where is every one ? I can't find a soul to whom 
I can break the glorious news. Tyrant man is being 



THE GUEST RETAINER 9 

conquered! Miss McArty, Mr. Coffin, Mr. Coffin ! (Exit 
c; off stage.) Down with tyrant man! 

Tell. And you think that she would marry a retired 
undertaker ! You've got another think coming. 

Verne. You wait and see. He has fallen for her 
pretty hard, and when she wakes up and realizes it, she'll 
fall for him harder still. It takes some time for anything 
to penetrate that ** tyrant man " stuff because she has 
used it so long. But it is merely camouflage. See if I'm 
not right. 

Tell. Some of the characters here are positively 
funny, are they not ? I wonder what Barnum and Bailey 
would give us for the lot. 

Verne {enthusiastically). Now you're talking, old 
man. Your soft music sob stuff gets on my nerves. 
There's plenty to laugh at around here. Just keep on 
with your sight-seeing tour. 

Tell. I'll try to. In the meanwhile you hustle that 
plan along to where I can horn in on it. 

Verne. Leave it to me. (Starts to exit r. but stops 
suddenly.) Good-night! Guess I'll go through the 
office. (Crosses to l.) 

Tell. What's the trouble? 

Verne. Cassie is on the horizon headed this way. 

Tell (in mock terror). Tom, don't desert me in a 
time of trouble. Stay here with me. 

Verne. Sorry, but I stood all that I could last night. 
I guess you will have to face the music alone. (Shakes 
hands very seriously.) Good luck. [Exit l. 

Enter Cassandra McArty, r. She is dressed very ex- 
travagantly ; her person is overloaded with jewelry; 
wears eye-glasses with wide black ribbon streaming 
from them; is much older than she will dress or 
admit. Carries manuscript under arm. 

Cas. (effusively). Oh, bon jour, my dear Mr. Tell. 
How are you this divine morning? 

Tell. I'm very w^ell, thank you ; and also very busy. 

(^Buries face in ledger.) 



lO THE GUEST RETAINER 

Cas. I have been up since 'five o'clock. It thrills one 
so to commune with nature while the babe is still " dewy 
with sleep ' ' and the earth — er — sleepy with dew. 

(Sits in chair up c. ) 

Tell. Yes. (Adding his accounts.) Twenty-six 
fifty — thirty-nine seventy-five — one hundred fifty 

Cas. I won't disturb you but a second. You have so 
kindly advised me on my manuscript before that I thought 
perhaps you would be willing to criticize this passage. 
Oh dear, I do hope this story will be as successful as 
was my " Hearts at Sea." 

Tell (without looking up). I'm sure it will be. 

Cas. I am putting my greatest effort into it. 

Tell. Then of course it can't miss fire. 

Cas. If it is a success, do you know I think that not 
I alone will deserve the credit. 

Tell (without interest). ^ Who will? 

Cas. (gushingly). Why, you! My dear Mr. Tell, 
you must realize that you are almost as important as the 
hero of my story. (She approaches desk. Tell 
straightens up, his eyes rolling in search of a zvay of 
escape.) Your advice on the book has been priceless; 
and, besides that, I feel that I have made a really worth- 
while acquaintance. 

Tell (confused). Er — er — I'm very pleased to have 
met you. — Come again. 

Cas. We must get down to business now ; I don't wish 
to detain you. (Goes to divan and spreads out manu- 
script; Tell looks wildly about.) Here is the passage on 
which I wish your opinion. 

Tell. Let 'er go. 

(Closes ledger with a slam. Stands with elbows on 
counter, chin on hands, eyes half closed.) 

Cas. This is the letter which Lord Islington sends to 
Lady Deerington the morning after his proposal is ac- 
cepted. You remember that passionate scene, do 3^ou not, 
Mr. Tell? Now I would like to know if, in your judg- 



THE GUEST RETAINER II 

ment, this epistle fully lives up to the verve and spirit of 
that scene. (Sits on divan. Reads very affectedly.) 
" To my own darling sweetheart : Oh, how happy I am 
to be able to call you sweetheart. There seems to be 
music everywhere, and all creation is singing your name. 
The little birds chirp it ; the limpid brook gurgles it ; the 
mighty waves roar it; the sighing tree-tops whisper it. 
(Sighs ecstatically. In an awed whisper.) Isn't that 
perfectly rapturous, Mr. Tell? 

Tell (in a serious drawl). Sure is. Say, Miss Mc- 
Arty, couldn't you get something about the fishes in be- 
tween the waves and the tree-tops ? 

Cas. Thank you for the suggestion. (Studies manu- 
script a moment.) I'm afraid that would be a little too 
much. I don't want to overdo it in the least. Won't you 
come and sit beside me while I finish the letter? It 
would be so comfortable for you. You are forced to 
stand there so much. 

Tell. I can hear all right from here, thank you. 

Cas. Now don't you be so shy. I refuse to continue 
until you come over. (Coyly.) Come on, don't make 
me coax you. 

(Tell crosses with a sigh, and sits on extreme end of 
divan. Cas. is greatly pleased.) 

Tell. Let 'er go. 

Cas. Please tell me if you consider this excerpt soul- 
ful enough. (Reads.) "Before, all was cold and 
dreary, but now it is warmth and sunshine just because 
you love me." (Turns squarely to Tell with a sigh. He 
runs hack to desk.) Don't you think that the sentiment is 
beautiful ? Ah me, romance is stirring to the ever youth- 
ful soul ! I feel deep sympathy for those poor creatures 
who have never had romance in their lives. 

Tell. That's great. I guess Lady Deerington will 
fall for that stuff, all right. 

Cas. I'm so glad that your criticism is favorable. 

Tell. Where do you get your inspiration, Miss Mc- 
Arty ? When I was in school I couldn't get around a two 
page composition in less than a week. 

Cas. Sometimes it just comes to you. At first, I 



12 THE GUEST RETAINER 

didn't think that I was going to like it here at all. I 
couldn't get settled down to writing; in fact I had about 
decided to leave, when suddenly I had an inspirational 
attack. Thoughts came in floods upon floods, swifter 
than my pen could transcribe. Let me see, it was about 
the time I became acquainted with you, Mr. Tell. What 
a coincidence ! 

{She gazes earnestly at him. Tell hlozvs nose, then 
looks at watch.) 

Tell. What a fine day. I hope that to-morrow will 
be like it. 

Cas. Mr. Tell, do you know I was much astonished 
to hear from Mr. Verne that you had not already entered 
the state of matrimonial bliss? 

Tell (looks nervously at watch). Some of Verne's 
superfluous talk. 

Cas. What a husband you will make for some lucky 
girl. You are such a steady, sympathetic, understanding 
man. Have you any one in view ? 

Tell. No. Haven't even looked for one for a long 
time. 

Cas. Oh my, I hope that I — that I may meet her in 
the future. 

Tell. When do you intend to marry. Miss McArty? 

Cas. Oh, Mr. Tell, what a foolish question. I — I'll 
wager you a hundred that I never marry ! 

Tell (pulls out a wad of bills zvith a laugh). I'm a 
sport. I'll take you. 

Cas. Will you, really? Then I have lost my bet al- 
ready. 

Tell. Don't ! You may cause me to have an acute 
attack of heart disease. 

Cas. (confidentially). Do you know, I had a beautiful 
romance a few years ago. I was just seventeen. Dear 
boy, he ran away with a circus, and nearly broke my 
heart. 

Tell (aside). Lucky escape. 

Enter Ima, c. 
Ima. Down with tyrant man! (Sees Cas.) Miss 



THE GUEST RETAINER 



13 



McArty, I have been looking for you everywhere. Have 
you heard the glorious news? (Thrusts paper out to 
Cas.) Here, read this. It will do your heart good. 
(Sternly.) Or should. I do wish that I could induce 
you to join our society. Why don't you? You have no 
more use for men than I. 

Cas. Miss Brayer, don't you believe that there are 
exceptions? Once, when I was seventeen, I knew a 
young 

Ima. But a kind fate has given you your independ- 
ence. You are far luckier than many of our sex. Come 
in with us. I do pity those who have not seen the vision. 

Tell. I didn't know that women saw visions. I 
thought that the men had a corner on visions, pippins, 
dreams, peaches, chickens 

Ima (coldly). Really, your speech is beyond my com- 
prehension. 

Cas. Don't criticize, I beg of you. It is simply his 
individuality. I think that good American slang, as Mr. 
Tell uses it, is exceedingly quaint and charming. I may 
even put some of his expressions into the mouth of Lord 
Islington. 

Ima. Lord Islington? 

Cas. Yes. Don't you think that they would fit in 
somewhere, Mr. Tell ? 

Tell. I suppose it could be done. You're a cracker- 
jack at ink slinging, Miss McArty. (Goes to desk.) 

Cas. (to Ima). Sit here a while with me. (In a 
whisper.) My dear, don't you think that he is perfectly 
marvelous? I shall model Lord Islington after him to 
quite an extent. 

Ima. I beg pardon, but who is this Lord of whom you 
speak ? 

Cas. Oh, I thought you knew. He is the hero of my 
latest novel — the one I am now writing. 

Ima. I see. I liked your last story very well except 
in one particular. 

Cas. And that ? 

Ima. You did not show brute man at his worst. 
There was too much gloss. 



14 THE GUEST RETAINER 

Cas. I thought it best to be impartial. 

Ima. I hope that you can t\'ork something about our 
noble cause into yotu" present effort. What shall you 
entitle it? 

Cas. I haven't quite decided. (Beams at Tell.) 
How do you think er — " True Love at Last " w^ould be? 

Ima. Bah ! It is suggestive of that odious creature, 
man. Why not work your plot around my motto " Down 
with tyrant man " ? 

Cas. Perhaps — perhaps in the future, but not now. 
(Glances at Tell.) Ah, no, the source of my present in- 
spiration keeps me from even considering the suggestion. 

Ima. I don't know what the source is, but whatever 
it be, it cannot be an excuse for indulging in sentimentali- 
ties. You should permit nothing to sway you. I say 
now and forevermore, down with ty 

Enter Owen Coffin, r. He is a hale and hearty, ro- 
bust man, about fifty years old; is partly bald, and 
of a florid complexion. 

Ima (stopping abruptly; zvarmly). How do you do, 
Mr. Coffin? Good-morning. 

CoF. Good-morning, ladies. 

Ima. I have been looking all over the place for you. 
I have some wonderful news. I know that you will 
appreciate it if some people don't. (Glances at Tell and 
then at Cas. Hands paper to Cof.) Read that. 

CoF. Well, well, my friend, that is good news. I hope 
your good fortune continues. You have interested me 
greatly in your cause, and I most heartily support it. 

Ima. Yes, Miss McArty, as you remarked a while 
ago, there are exceptions. 

CoF. It is uncanny the way you have interested me in 
a subject that two weeks ago I would have uncom- 
promisingly vetoed. I can't understand it. 

Ima. I can. Truth and justice have overwhelmed 
you. 

Cof. I am inclined to believe that it is the bearer of 
that truth who is responsible. 



THE GUEST RETAINER I5 

Ima {dropping her mask completely for a moment). 
Oh, Mr. Coffin! {Catching herself; stiffly.) I am con- 
fident that some day you will see a woman in the presi- 
dent's chair. 

CoF. It sounds quite possible and logical when you 
say it, Miss Brayer. 

Ima {to Cas.). Again I say that you are correct. 

Cas. {who has been looking through paper). Good 
gracious! Will you listen to this! {Reads.) " Famous 
actress admits that she proposed to her husband. Read 
her article in the Sunday Supplement." 

CoF. She certainly had her assurance with her. I 
suppose that she could do it, but it seems a little out of the 
order of events. A little more maidenly reserve suits me. 
Let the men do the stuttering proposal and leave the 
blushing acceptance to the ladies. 

Ima. I donl agree with you on that point, Mr. Coffin. 
If woman is truly man's equal, you should concede that 
the equality holds at all times. Why shouldn't a woman 
propose if she wants a man? — I say if. We have got to 
overthrow foolish customs, and might as well begin at 
once. {Smiles earnestly at Cof.) 

CoF. Er — er — I wouldn 't be too precipitate. The fair 
sex should go in for such things gradually. 

Ima. Don't try to make me believe that you are bound 
down by convention and precedent so that you are un- 
willing to countenance any changing of the old order, Mr. 
Coffin, for I know better. 

Cas. It all depends upon the case. Individual cases 
should be considered from their own peculiar points. We 
should be tolerant. 

Ima. Your philosophy is broadening, my dear. I 
know that you will soon be one of us. 

Cas. I once knew a man whose wife divorced him 
because he refused to let his mother-in-law visit them. 
He had read all the terrible newspaper jokes about 
mothers-in-law and took them seriously. He should have 
awaited the outcome of his own experience. Generalities 
don't always hold. 

Ima. Poor abused mothers-in-law ! If I should ever 



l6 THE GUEST RETAINER 

have a mother-in-law I would worship her as a saint. 
What a wonderful woman she* would be to have a son 
that I would marry ! 

CoF. Help ! This is getting too deep for me. 
(Crosses to desk.) I say, Tell, have you the returns 
from the races yet? 

Tell. Not yet. They should be in soon. 

Enter Verne, l. Has newspaper in pocket. 

Verne. Good-morning, every one. Why don't you all 
go out on the beach and see the air-ship? It is right in 
front of the hotel now, and is going up very soon. 

Cas. Come on, let's all go. Miss Brayer, if he should 
fall, that would be " down with tyrant man " with a 
vengeance, wouldn't it? 

Verne. Haven't you heard? This i.s a w^oman — an 
aviatrix — who has recently blossomed forth. No one 
knows who she is; the papers refer to her as the " Ea- 
glet," and they are all trying for a scoop on her identity. 

Ima. Again woman rises supreme. 

Cas. How romantic. I do want to see that dear little 
butterfly of the heavens. 

CoF. Young and pretty, I suppose. 

Ima {sharply). Not necessarily. Let's get started. 

Cas. Can't you come with us, Mr. Tell ? 

Tell. Sorry, but I have some mail to attend to. 

Cas. Good-bye for a while, Mr. Tell. 

[Exeunt Cof., Ima and Cas., r. 

Tell. Ye gods, what a relief. Say, I'm beginning to 
think you are right about Coffin and Brayer.* 

Verne. Sure, I'm always right. They show signs of 
mutual admiration, to put it mildly. 

Tell. But dash your top-lights for wishing that 
cracked story-grinder on to me. She sticks tighter than 
glue. She'd fall for anything that wore pants. 

Verne. Cheer up, things will soon be all right. 

Tell. Put on a new record, will you ? 

Verne. Honestly, things are coming out fine. I've got 
my advertising scheme under way. 

Tell. Then let me in on it. 



THE GUEST RETAINER I7 

Verne (takes paper from pocket). Read this. 

Tell. The paper again ! I'll say that that dirty yellow 
sheet has been used two cents' worth this morning. 
{Reads a moment with puzzled expression.) You raving 
idiot. Don't you know what food costs now? We are 
better off with the few guests we have now than we will 
be if you get an answer to that. 

Verne. Pretty catchy ad, isn't it? 

Tell. Catchy? It'll help us catch it in the neck. 
(Reads.) "Wanted: An up-to-date young man to be- 
come a regular guest, with board, room and all privileges 
for five dollars a week. Must be a gentleman of good 
education, and up on the latest dances, gossip, fashions, 
and games. The faster he can talk, the better. Apply 
to T. A. Verne, Hotel Jerskeet." 

Verne. That sounds original, doesn't it? 

Tell. Holy jumping mackerel ! Don't you know that 
our price is as low as we can make it and live ? 

Verne. Just a minute. Let me explain. 

Tell. Do it, if you can. 

Verne. Do you want a vacation from the attentions 
of our fair friend, Miss McArty? 

Tell. I'll have one up with Saint Peter soon if I 
don't get relief. 

Verne. What is it that Ima and Cassie and the weepy 
widow and all the rest of that bunch are looking for? 
Isn't it a real live man who will make a fuss over them? 

Tell. You don't have to keep me going at this in- 
fernal pace. They'll stay, now that they are here. 

Verne. Sure they will, if you keep up your end of the 
game. You've been holding them, Bob, old stocking, and 
as sure as you let down some of them will flutter away ; 
nevertheless, I think that you deserve a rest. 

Tell. Break the news gently. What has softened 
your heart? 

Verne. Here's my large idea. These old used-to-was 
individuals will flood the country with the info, that there 
is a regular guy here who makes a fuss over all the dis- 
cards of the mal:rimonial market. Then watch. We'll 
have suffrage conventions, the Order of Ancient Author- 



l8 THE GUEST RETAINER 

esses, the Forlorn Widows Forum, and everything else 
making the Hotel Jerskeet their headquarters, or I'm a 
bum guesser. See the idea of the ad? 

Tell. Gosh, that sounds fishier than the story you 
used to sell Arctic oil stock. 

Verne. There's a regular gold mine in this stunt. It 
won't be any expense to us. The five dollars will cover 
most of the cost of his food, and he will soon be bring- 
ing in much more than that. 

Tell. Suppose we will get an answer to the ad? 
It sounds pretty queer, you've got to admit. 

Verne. Ah, my son, let's talk biz. Listen, I've got a 
regular response to the " Maiden's Prayer " waiting in 
the office. Some parlor cootie saw that appeal for help 
as soon as it was off the press, and has applied for the 
position. 

Tell. Well, I'll be hanged. Rush him in quick ! 

Verne. He's a real rah-rah boy, a pink tea lizard. He^s 
our one best bet. (Crosses to door, l., ajid calls.) Simp- 
son, out here, please. (To Tell.) I am sure that we will 
land him. (Enter Richard Archibald Simpson, l. 
He is " dolled up " to the extreme limit. Panama hat 
with bright colored hand; shirt zvith wide black and 
white stripes; trousers well above shoe-tops, displaying 
brilliant purple socks; flaming red tie ; yellow silk hand- 
kerchief trailing from breast pocket; kid gloves; zvrist 
watch; tan shoes; carries slender gold-headed zvalking- 
stick.) Mr. Richard Archibald Simpson — my partner, 
Mr. Tell. 

(Tell and Sim. greet each other.) 

Sim. Well, gents, I guess that I have all the qualifica- 
tions called for. What's the string to the proposition? 
There is one of course. Let's get down to details. 

Tell. I'm interested in the particulars, too, Tom. 
Shoot 'em. 

Verne. It is a long story, boys. Gather some chairs. 
(Verne goes to desk and gets long document. All draw 
chairs c. and sit.) We'll take up the ad first. Tell us 
about vour education. 



THE GUEST RETAINER I9 

Sim. It took three of the best prep, schools in the 
country, to say nothing of private tutors, to get me into 
Harvard. 

Verne. Fine ! Great ! 

Sim. It hindered my social life somewhat, to study, 
you see. Then I got kicked out of Harvard my Junior 
year. 

Verne. Education O. K. (Looks at ad in paper.) 
Let me see, how about the rest of this — the gossip, dances, 
games, and fashions? 

Sim. I am a regular subscriber to *' Town Topics," 
'' Vanity Fair," and seven theatrical and movie publica- 
tions. 

Verne. Ever read the " Atlantic Monthly " ? 

Sim. No, but I never miss a single issue of " Smart 
Set." 

Tell. You're elected ! 

Verne {spreading out document). Here is an agree- 
ment you will be expected to sign. 

Sim. Let's hear it. 

Tell. Motion seconded. 

Verne (reads). "I," — Let me insert your name; I 
know that you are the man for the place — (Writes.) 
" Mr. Richard Archibald Simpson," (reads) " do 
hereby agree to act as Guest Retainer for the Hotel 
Jerskeet, for a trial period of thirty days, with right of 
renewal of contract at close of said trial period." 

Sim. That sounds all right; but what is a Guest Re- 
tainer? I have had personal encounter with " bouncers " 
in some public places, but a " retainer " is new to me. 

Tell. It's a terrible life. 

Verne (/o Tell). Shut up. (Reads.) " During this 
time I am to receive equal treatment with other guests 
as regards board, room and miscellaneous privileges. I 
agree to carry out to the best of my ability the following 
rules and regulations : First : This contract is to be 
kept absolutely secret." Get that. No one is to be aware 
of the fact that you have anything to do with us but 
pay your bills. 

Sim. Certainly. I would prefer to give that impres- 



20 THE GUEST RETAINER 

sion. I'm long on accomplishments, but rather short on 
money just at present. 

Verne (reads). " Second: I am to pick out the wall- 
flowers on the ballroom floor every evening, and enter- 
tain them to the best of my ability, but not dance or 
promenade with the same lady more than twice in the 
same evening, except with the express permission of my 
employers." We'll modify that for the present. Until 
business picks up we will make it, say, four times. 
(Reads.) "Third: I am to be present on the veranda 
immediately after dinner and there to slowly meander up 
and down, devoting myself to those who in the rush of 
the day have been noticed as fixtures and general adorn- 
ments in whatever functions the hotel guests may happen 
to disport themselves." 

Sim. A-ha ! I begin to understand the meaning of 
" Guest Retainer." 

Tell. Some job. 

Sim. I'll say you said it. Some job! 

Verne (reads). " Fourth : I am to make a specialty of 
being agreeable at all times to all widows, suffragettes, 
authoresses, and to any females who may seem lonely 
and disconsolate." 

Sim. Oh, boy ! This job is a pipe. 

Tell. Hold your horses. You'll soon find out. I 
look a darn sight healthier than you, but my constitution 
is weakened after less than a month of it on a small 
scale. 

Verne (reads). "Fifth: I am at all times between 
five A. M. and midnight under the command of either of 
my employers. Sixth : In the event of my contracting a 
wealthy marriage as a result of my attentions, I am to 
pay to Messrs. Verne and Tell, within one year, five per 
cent of the lady's reputed fortune." 

Tell. Fine! Fine! Now we are getting sense; but 
do you think that any one who sports a check-book 
would put up here? 

Verne. The future is yet unborn, sonny. (Reads.) 
" Seventh : In the event of my breaking the terms of this 
contract I am to pay the full price of lodgings and board 



THE GUEST RETAINER 21 

at the Hotel Jerskeet for time spent there, and in addition, 
a copy of this contract, together with my name ^nd 
photograph, is to be handed to the newspapers." That's 
all, my friend. 

Tell. For the love of Mike, what did you eat for 
breakfast ? 

Sim. Sounds pretty good to me. Pass it over until 
I sign. (Signs.) 

Verne. Now you witness it, Harry. (Tell signs and 
then Yer-ne. Clock in distance strikes.) Listen, it's just 
eleven by the town clock. This contract holds until 
eleven o'clock the morning of August fifteenth. Are 
you agreed? 

Sim. Done. Shake on it. (All shake hands.) 

Verne. Remember now, this is just between Tom, 
Dick and Harry. 

Sim. Right you are. Some noble trio. 

Tell. Think o'f the first syllable of your last name, 
Simp-son. That's you, all right. I'm nearly all in from 
doing half the things you have signed up for. 

Sim. This is just what I have been waiting for. 
La — la, dances, games, moonlight strolls, whispered sweet 
nothings, afternoon tea, a few flirtations — I'm a bear at 
them all. 

Verne. Now get ready for a rush of business, Harry. 

Tell. Well, I don't know about this; it sounds good 
in theory, but who can tell how it will work out? 

Verne. The news will spread like wild-fire. 

Sim. And once it starts to spread, you gents leave it 
to little Dickey to keep things going. (Strolls R. and 
looks out.) Here comes some one who looks as formi- 
dable as a battle-ship. I *m ready for business. Introduce 
me. 

(Sim. sits in chair up c. reading paper. Tell runs R. 
and peers out; then runs behind desk.) 

Tell. Simp., old boy, win her from me. 

Enter Cas., r. 

Cas. Oh, Mr. Tell, those two seemed so happy that 



22 THE GUEST RETAINER 

I hated to intrude. I would much rather stay and talk 
with you anyway. 

Tell. I 'm sorry, but I must attend to the mail. 

Verne. Miss McArty, we have a new arrival who 
would like to meet you. 

Cas. Is it a — a man ? 

Verne. Yes. • 

Cas. I'd be delighted. 

Verne. Mr. Simpson, won't you come here a moment? 
(Sim. comes down c.) Miss McArty — Mr. Simpson. 
(To Sim.) Miss McArty is the author of "Hearts at 
Sea," you know. 

Sim. Ah, my favorite novel. 

Cas. How very kind of you. 

Sim. Yes, I have read it several times. It is simply 
irresistible. 

Cas. Really now, you don't mean that ! 

Sim. Honest to goodness I do. 

Cas. Are you to stay with us long? 

Verne. Oh, yes, Mr. Simpson will be here a month at 
least, and very probably the balance of the season. 

Tell. Here is your key, sir. 

Sim. (crosses to desk and takes key). Get me a copy 
of " Hearts at Sea," Tell. I shall have to sit up all night 
and read it. 

Tell. Don't worry. She will give you an auto- 
graphed copy by to-morrow morning at the latest. 

Verne (to Cas.). I'll leave you to help Mr. Simpson 
get acquainted with the folks. [Exit l. 

Cas. (sits on divan). Let's sit down here and get 
better acquainted ourselves. 

Sim. I'd be pleased to. (Sits beside her.) 

Cas. Since you are so interested in good literature, 
I shall want your advice on my new book. 

Tell (aside). I feel a load lifted from my soul. 

Sim. Is it anything like " Hearts at Sea "? 

Cas. Oh, no. It is quite different. This one deals 
with the nobility, and is written on a more intellectual 
plane. By the way, what part of " Hearts at Sea " do 
you like best ? 



THE GUEST RETAINER 23 

Sim. Why, I — er — er. Well, of course the first chap- 
ter is not at all like — like the last one. On the whole I 
don't like any part of it — er — better than another. One 
must digest it whole. (Tell coughs-* loudly,) I have 
often thought that I would like to write. In fact, I took 
a correspondence course in movie writing once. 

Cas. How very interesting. Did you ever sell any ? 

Sim. No. The correspondence people wanted more 
to revise them than I could ever hope to get for them; 
so I gave up writing and took their course in movie 
acting. 

Cas. How romantic! (Tell closes book with a 
bang.) In what pictures did you appear? 

Sim. I supported Douglas Fairbanks in " The Un- 
conquerable Hero." I was in one scene. He hit me so 
hard that I retired from the picture. Anyway, I don't 
like those rough and tumble affairs. 

Cas. No. You look as if you would be more at 
home in society dramas. 

Sim. Then I heard that Mary Pickford was looking 
for a leading man. When I got there they had hired 
some one else. Said they didn't know I was coming, 
and couldn't break the other man's contract. They were 
very sorry about it. So I gave up acting. 

Cas. Too bad. I know that you would make a 
splendid hero. Perhaps you would like to help me with 
the climax of my story. I would love to have your 
opinion on this passage. 

(Tell is seised with a coughing attack.) 

Sim. I am delighted. 

Cas. (opening manuscript). Now you must under- 
stand that Lord Islington and Lady Deerington 

Enter Ima, c. Still has newspapers. 

Ima. Any mail for me ? 
Tell. Not this morning, Miss Brayer. 
Cas. Do come here. I have a surprise for you. Miss 
Brayer, do meet Mr. Simpson. 

Sim. I am most exceedingly delighted. 



24 THE GUEST RETAINER 

Ima (brusquely) . So am I. (Thrusts out paper.) I 
don't know how you stand in the fight, but read this. 

Sim. (reads). "Woman sheriff appointed." I'd let 
any chicken pincli-me. (Starts to laugh heartily. Tell 
coughs violently, gets his attention, and wildly signals 
"No." Sim. sobers down quickly.) Fine! Fine! I 
certainly am glad. 

Ima. I know that I am going to like you. 

Cas. Where is Mr. Coffin? 

Ima. He will be right back. He went to mail a letter 
for me. 

Sim. What do you ladies say to a short stroll, just for 
an appetizer? We have a few minutes before lunch. 

Cas. Delighted. 

Ima. Yes. I can tell you all about our Equality 
League. 

(Sim. offers each an arm, and they start for door, r. 
All talk.) 

Tell. What a blessed relief. Now I can live in peace. 
Enter Cof., c. 

CoF. Did Miss Brayer (Sees trio going through 

door. Stops short and stares.) Well, I'll be- 

(Runs R., and looks out.) Tell, who is that man? 

Tell. A new guest, sir. Seems to be one of those 
fashion plates who makes a hit with all the ladies. 

CoF. Well, he's not a bit bashful, is he? How long 
is he going to stay ? 

Tell. The rest of the season, I believe. 

GoF. The devil you say! (Paces back and forth.) 
Miss Brayer said that she would be here when I came 
back, and he has had the nerve to drag her oif. And he 
came just this morning! (Again looks out ^.) They are 
both clinging to him as if he were their last hope. Well, 
I'll be (Dashes off r.) 

Tell (runs and looks off r. Then calls). Tom, Tom, 
for the love of soup, come quick. 

Enter Verne, l. 



THE GUEST RETAINER 25 

Verne. What's up now ? 

Tell (excitedly). Look out the door,— hurry (Verne 
runs to door R.) What do you know about that> Some 
speed work. Old Coffin is going crazy. 

Verne. Harry, old scout, we are off ! 

(They dance all over stage.) 
CURTAIN 



ACT II 

SCENE. — Same as Act I. Two weeks later. * Curtain 
discovers Cas. and Sim. on divan. Tell is behind 
desk. 

Cas. Now remember, — to-morrow morning at five- 
thirty. Oh, wasn't it beautiful this morning! I just love 
to take early morning walks. To-morrow we may dis- 
cover where that little thrush has its nest. 

Sim. It would be positively thrilling if we should dis- 
cover it, I do declare. 

Enter Cof. and Ima, c. 

CoF. Ah, yes. The sea at sunset is most charming. 
Let us stroll to Rocky Point at twilight again to-night. 

Ima. Yes, indeed. {Sees Sim. Very cordially.) 
Mr. Simpson, how are you to-day? I haven't set eyes 
on you this morning. 

(She crosses and shakes hands with Sim. Cof. and 
Cas. are perturbed.) 

Sim. Let's all go down and see the boat come in. 
It's due now. 

Ima. We would be delighted, Mr. Simpson. 

(All rise, but Ima takes Sim. by the arm and hurries 
him off R. ) 

CoF. Well, I'll be da 



Cas. Please don't be, Mr. Coffin. 

(She gases off r. a moment, dabbles handkerchief at 
eyes, and quickly exits c.) 

CoF. That insolent young;- pup. Dash him for butting 
into mv affairs like that. I'll fix him. [Exit R. 

'26 



THE GUEST RETAINER 27 

Tell. There's a storm brewing. I wonder what is 
going to happen. Something will with the bunch of 
lunatics that is running around here. 

Enter Verne, l., with several letters. 

Verne. Look at this — three letters and two telegrams 
came in late last night. All want reservations, and they 
are all signed " Miss " this or " Miss " that. I guess that 
there was something in Tommy's little scheme, after all. 

Tell. I'll have to admit that there was. 

Verne. I guess you will. You know what our pros- 
pects were two weeks ago. 

Tell. Starvation was our closest friend. 

Verne {waving letters) . And see what began to happen 
after Dick had been here just one short week. And 
there is a good part of the season left yet, boy. That's 
the best part of it, too. 

Tell. Doesn't it beat all how Dick is mixing things 
up around here? But look, if we don't do something, 
Coffin will be so raving mad that he will up-stakes and 
go. Ima has fallen too hard for Dick. So hard, in fact, 
that I am really afraid that Coffin will clear out. 

Verne. No he won't. He wants his little affair with 
Ima to be lasting, and he will stick and fight to the finish. 
He will enjoy it more in the end if he has to step lively 
now. 

Tell. Simp, sure has him up a tree now. 

Verne {takes small note-hook from pocket). Well, we 
will have Dick stay away from her to-night. {Writes in 
note-book.) Steer clear — of Miss Brayer — until — fur- 
ther notice. Dick's a good little worker, Harry. He's 
keeping his contract to the letter. 

Tell. Seems to enjoy it, too. The big idiot. No man 
can keep up that pace. 

Verne. It breaks my heart to see Cassia. She has 
given up her wild chase for you, and it's Mr. Simpson this 
and Mr. Simpson that all day long every day. She can't 
understand why he is so inconstant ; one minute here and 
the next there. 

Tell. She is so happy when getting her share of at- 



28 THE GUEST RETAINER 

• 

tention from our Guest Retainer, that I almost want to 
console her when her time is up. (Puts arm around 
Verne and chucks his cliin.) "There, there, Cassie, 
don't cry. Mr. Simpson will do a one step and a waltz 
with you to-morrow night, and perhaps we will order him 
to take you for a walk before breakfast, if you are good." 

Verne. Run along before you hear the angel Gabriel 
blowing his trumpet. 

Tell. You stay at the desk while I go for the morn- 
ing mail. Say, don't you think that next week we can 
add a bell-hop to our staff of two cooks and three com- 
bination chamber-maids and waitresses? 

Verne. I guess that we can if business holds out. 

Tell. I hope so. I'm sick of being everybody's jack- 
in-the-box. I'll be right back. [Exit c. 

(Verne picks up house 'phone and rings.) 

Verne. Is this the kitchen? — Don't give 'em stewed 
prunes again to-night. Make it prune pie. — Yep. — Good- 
bye. 

Enter Cof., r. He walks quickly to desk. 

CoF. Er — Mr. Verne, can you tell me how long Simp- 
son is to be here? 

Verne. At least two weeks more, 1 understand. 

Cof. The devil ! 

Verne. And probably until the end of the season. 

Cof. [sarcastically). Fine! 

Verne. I agree. Every one seems to have taken a tre- 
mendous liking to him. 

CoF. The insolent pup ! 

Verne. What? 

CoF. Nothing; nothing. Guess I'll have ^ smoke on 
the veranda. {Turns abruptly and exits R.) 

Verne. So the ^reen-eyed monster has arrived. That 
big husky acts as if he were about nineteen. 

Enter Cas., c, very slowly. 
Cas. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! 



THE GUEST RETAINER 2<) 

Verne. I l)eg your pardon. Did you speak? 

Cas. Mr. Verne, my heart is just overflowing. I must 
talk to some one. We have become such good friends 
the last tvi^o weeks, — you have told me so much about 
your dear wife and children. May I talk to you a while? 

Verne. Certainly. 

Cas. I suppose that you have noticed that we have 
been just like a big family here — every one chummy and 
friendly with every one else. 

Verne. Yes, I have often thought how much nicer it is 
than at some of the larger hotels where every formality 
and convention must be observed. We like our guests 
to have that " big family " feeling. 

Cas. Have you noticed anything that threatens the 
quietude of our family ? 

Verne. I can't say that I have; it seems as if things 
were better than ever. There never w^as more laughter 
and jollity around here than at present. 
. Cas. I am astonished to note that one person seem- 
ingly has no regard for the rest of us. 

Verne. You surprise me. 

Cas. You realize how much Mr. Simpson has been the 
life of the place since his arrival, do you not? 

Vernr. Yes ; to some extent. 

Cas. Well, do you think that it is very fair for Ima 
Brayer to monopolize his time as she does? Every time 
I come in with him she manages to be at liberty, and 
makes a grand rush for him. Really, it's most discourag- 
ing. 

Verne. Perhaps he wishes to be impartial. I saw him 
dancing with about every one last evening. 

Cas. Yes, I know. Yesterday he was out walking 
with me all the afternoon. After dinner Miss Brayer 
got him for a dance, and I didn 't hardly see him the rest 
of the evening. Mr. Coffin and I had a most miserable 
evening together. 

Verne. That's too bad. 

Cas. There is something else just as bad. 

Verne. Let's hear it. I can sympathize, at least. 

Cas. Well, ever since about the time that Mr. Simp- 



30 



THE GUEST RETAINER 



son came, Mr. Tell has been very brusque and inatten- 
tive. Before that he was the most courteous, most under- 
standing gentleman that I have ever known. In fact, I 
had just about concluded that he was my ideal. But now, 
I am sorry to say, he is commencing to totter on his 
throne. 

Vi:RNE. You must excuse him. Business is business, 
and he has had considerable on his mind lately. 

Cas. The last two weeks have been fateful ones for 
me. 

Verni:. I wouldn't worry any more if I were }-ou. 
"Every cloud has a silver lining," you know. 

Cas. I fear that my cloud has been turned inside out 
so many times that the lining is all worn through. 

Verne. Perhaps things aren't so bad as they seem. 

Cas. I'm afraid that they are. Even Mr. Coffin no- 
tices it. We had quite a talk last night. This state of 
affairs disturbs him as much as it does me ; only he looks 
at things back end to. He prefers to imagine that Mr. 
Simpson is using cave man tactics, which is all wrong. 
Miss Brayer is overstepping all bounds, and Mr. Simpson 
is defenseless as he is such a gentleman that he can't bear 
to hurt any one's feelings, no matter how badly they 
need to be hurt. 

Verne {glances across desk and out r.). Here comes 
Coffin. Why don't you talk it over again to-day? Since 
he is more actively concerned, perhaps he can help you 
better than I. 

Cas. I believe I shall. 

Verne (aside). I'll clear out of this. [Ej^it l. 

Enter Cof., r. 

Cas. Oh, dear. Isn't it awful ? ^-^ 

Cof. I should say it is. Er — er — what are you talking 

about ? 

Cas. You know. Didn't we talk it over last night? 

^ CoF. Wasn't it a horrible evening? I thought that 

perhaps to-day would be different, but see what happened 

the minute we were all together. 



THE GUEST RETAINER 



31 



Cas. Yes. Did you see that woman rise like a vul- 
ture and pounce on that poor, defenseless man ? 

CoF. You are all wrong. He literally dragged her 
away. 

Cas. No, no. It was the other way about. 

CoF. Evidently my sight is failing. I saw no such 
incident as you describe. 

Cas. I am so miserable that I could die. 

CoF. I confess that I am, too. I never dreamed that 
I would be such a silly old fool. 

Cas. Neither did I. 

CoF. What ! 

Cas. Er — think that I would be one, too. 

CoF. Will you be frank with me? 

Cas. Of course. 

CoF. Well then, let's get down to brass tacks. We 
will talk things over freely and see how we can help each 
other. There must be some way out. I'll die if there 
isn't. 

Cas. That will be fine. How romantic this is ! 
{Simperingly.) Two er — er — lovers in distress. But not 
the usual case of those who are in love with each other. 
It's a new idea. I shall have to embody it in my next 
novel. 

CoF. Let's get down to business. First of all, we had 
better analyze our chances as they seem to us. You 
were more or less confidential with Miss Brayer — before 
Simpson came. Did you ever hear her speak as if there 
were one man in existence to whom she would not ad- 
dress her favorite phrase? 

Cas. I don't know, I'm sure. 

CoF. Please think hard. It means much to me. Ye 
gods, after living all these years with immunity, to have 
to go through such agony ! I would have sworn that 
nothing like it could enter my life. 

Cas. Let's exchange. Did — did Mr. Tell ever speak 
as if he liked me a little more than the others? He used 
to be so attentive. {Pause.) Or has Mr. Simpson ever 
remarked about me? He was so kind and polite until 
that Brayer woman began to be a — a vampire. 



32 THE GUEST RETAINER 

CoF. (with dignity). Madam, please be careful in 
speaking of Miss Brayer. She is not to blame. It is 
all the fault of that interfering pup. 

Cas. {tearfully) . Please don't allude to Mr. Simpson 
again as a — a young dog. 

CoF. I beg your pardon. Seriously now, do you think 
that there is any chance for me ? 

Cas. Do you think that I stand any show ? 

CoF. We don't seem to be getting anywhere. It is 
time to answer some of each other's questions. We must 
be frank, even to the point of brutality. 

Cas. We will begin. You answer mine. Candidly, 
now, do you think that I stand any chance? 

CoF. With whom ? Simpson or Tell ? 

Cas. Either. 

CoF. To speak plainly, I think that the whole trouble 
lies in the fact that it is very evident which way you would 
like to have the wind blow. 

Cas. What ! Do you think that I have once over- 
stepped my dignity? 

CoF. I wouldn't like to 

Cas. {angrily). Do you know what your trouble is? 
To speak plainly, I think that the whole trouble lies in 
the fact that it is very evident for whom you are angling. 

CoF. {excitedly). Do you think that I have been any- 
thing but reserved in my speech and action ? 

Cas. I— I 

CoF. By Jove ! I believe that you are correct. And 
I'm mighty sure that I am. The trouble is that we have 
been steadily on the offensive, so much so that they have 
had no opportunity to go through what we are now ex- 
periencing. No doubt they have been enjoying our tor- 
ture and suffering none themselves. 

Cas. I begin to see your point of view; but how 
humiliating. 

CoF. I think that I see a way out — for both of us. 

Cas. a light in the darkness ? What is it ? 

CoF. Listen ; Ima — er, Miss Bfayer is indifferent 
toward me ; Tell and Simpson toward you. Why ? Be- 
cause we have let them see that they are absolutely sure 



THE GUEST RETAINER 33 

of US. It is not the fault of our conscious selves. We 
are more temperamental, more impulsive, more romantic 
by nature than they. 

Cas. Yes. Romantic ! It's in our souls. 

CoF. If we can make them suddenly realize that we 
are not martyrs to their whims, and that they are in 
danger of losing us altogether, we will be reinstated. 

Cas. Victory ! We have really helped each other. 
How glad I am that our natures are so sympathetic. The 
next question is how shall we accomplish our end? 

CoF. We might leave here for a week — give them a 
chance to see how it is without us around. 

Cas. Oh, I couldn't do that ! They might even forget 
that we exist. No, I think that it is best to remain near 
them. 

CoF. I have it. We will stay right here and lead them 
to think that they have misjudged us — that our interest 
in them is merely passing. We will give them the im- 
pression that you and I are wrapped up in each other. 
We will be very, very good friends for a few days. You 
must give me every dance, go out only with me, and talk 
about me constantly when Miss Brayer is around. That 
Avill fix things. I will do likewise for you. (Laughs.) 
I shall have to work twice as hard, though. I shall have 
to play up to two persons, while you have only one to 
manage. 

Cas. It sounds just like a book. How thrilling. 

CoF. Affairs will gradually slip back to their natural 
state. We can even let it go a bit the other way, and 
cause them some worry. Cheer up ; we will soon control 
the situation. 

Cas. I feel so relieved. Mr. Coffin, if you were I, to 
whom would you be inclined, Mr, Tell or Mr. Simpson? 
They are such dear creatures. I admire them both. 

CoF. (almost laughs in her face). I don't know, I'm 
sure. Get 'em going and then take your choice. 

Cas. How clever of you. I believe I shall. 

Enter Tell, c, zvlth hunch of letters. 

Tell. I think that I have a letter for you, Miss Mc- 
Arty. — Yes, here it is. (Hands letter to her.) 



34 THE GUEST RETAINER 

• 

Cas. {coldly). Thank you. {Takes Cof. hy the arm.) 
Let us go on the veranda. It is much more pleasant out 
there. [Exeunt Cof. <ind Cas., r. 

Tell {stares after them a moment, then). My! it's 
getting cold. Believe me, whatever the cause, that frosty 
atmosphere is a welcome relief from the torrid weather 
of the last few weeks. (Tell, softly whistling, sorts mail 
and puis it in rack. Now and then reads " Hotel Jer- 
skeet," and throzvs letter on desk. After mail is all in 
rack he opens these letters and glances at them.) More 
requests for reservations. I thank my lucky stars that 
Tom had one idea worth while. 

Enter Ima, r. 

Ima. I saw Miss McArty reading a letter, so I have 
come in to see if I have any mail. 
Tell. Yes, there is one for you. 

(Takes it from rack and gives it to her.) 

Ima. Thank you. {Opens it and reads.) Mr. Tell, 
we have won over another state. 

Tell. Congratulations. 

Ima. I'm so glad that my talking has opened your 
eyes to truth and justice. 

Tell. Might as well be liberal. 

Ima. By the way, I wonder if you can tell me any- 
thing about this young man Simpson. What is he and 
where does he come from? 

Tell. A — ha ! young lady. 

Ima. Oh, Mr. Tell. 

Tell. I thought that you were getting interested in 
him. I've got your number. 

Ima {violently) . Do you know what I really think of 
him? I think that he is a feather-brained young fop. 
H<i is about as much use on this earth as a caterpillar — 
in one respect he is much like one, — he makes a beautiful 
butterfly. 

Tell. What language from Miss Brayer. Naughty ! 
Naughty ! 



THE GUEST RETAINER 35 

Ima. I don't care; it makes my blood boil. Just think, 
in my home town they would let that brainless fashion 
plate vote, and help run the place, while I would be con- 
sidered useless because I don't happen to be a talented 
cook. 

Tell. I'll be darned if I understand you. Here you 
have been trotting around with him for a week or more. 

Ima (aside). It has been noticed. I hope that the 
right one realized it. (To Tell.) Do you want to know 
why I have done it? (Pause.) It seems queer to talk to 
you like this, but we seem like old friends because you 
have taken such an interest in my life-work the last few 
weeks. Since we are good friends I'll tell you. I must 
confide in some one. My heart is breaking. 

Tell (aside). She evidently thinks that I am a con- 
fidence man. 

Ima. Mr. Coffin is the first man that I have ever be- 
come interested in. He so thoroughly believes in our 
cause that I was greatly attracted to him. 

Tell. Then why did you give him the cold shoulder 
for Simpson? 

Ima. It had to be done. It was strategy on my part. 

Tell. I don't understand. 

Ima. I saw him come up the street with that — that 
novel writer three different times, and I realized imme- 
diately that I had let him see too clearly that he meant 
a great deal to me. I have never been so desperately un- 
happy in my life. Who ever dreamed that such a thing 
would come to pass? I know that he realizes it, and is 
simply playing me. I feel certain that he cares. I'm 
game, though. I'll keep Simpson under my wing until 
Owen Coffin wakes up. My one chance is to show him 
that I can exist without him, and be happy elsewhere. 
But for some reason it doesn't work yet. 

Tell. Things will soon straighten out. 

Ima. He still goes with her all the time. Three times 
I saw them together, I tell you, and he danced with her 
all last evening,^ — and they have just this minute left here 
together. 

Tell. You have Simpson, as you say ; and I know 



36 THE GUEST RETAINER 

that you are only kidding nie about him. All the ladies 
are crazy over him. 

Ima. I know that some of them are making perfect 
fools of themselves ; all of them, in fact, except me. I 
have a few brains, and any one so blessed would prefer 
a living undertaker to a mental corpse. 

Tell. Is he as bad as that ? 

Ima. He is. He can talk fast enough about fashions 
and theatres and dancing, and half a hundred inconse- 
quential things, but he has to back into a corner when 
3'ou start to touch upon the great things of life. 

Tell. The poor boy. 

Ima. And Coffin is such a different man. 

Tell. I should say so. 

Ima. Such a thoroughbred gentleman of the old 
school ; so sympathetic and refined. I don't see why he 
should be so attracted by that authoress. 

Tell. You never can tell. 

Ima. I suppose that it must be wonderful for her. 
Probably all her life she has been trying in vain to find 
some one who would pay her a little attention. 

Tell. It is unfortunate when a woman has to worry 
over getting a meal ticket. 

Ima. It must be. I really feel sorry for Miss Mc- 
Arty. — But it is mean of her to commit highway robbery. 

Tell. It isn't as bad as that. I am positive that they 
accidentally met while going in the same direction, and 
you, in your upset state of mind, didn't realize that it 
was nothing intentional on his part. 

Ima. Three times? Yes, accidentally on purpose. 
How about last night — and just now? 

Tell. Don't worry ; it will all come out in the wash. 

Ima. Then I hope that wash day comes soon. I shall 
go up to my room and try to calm myself. You must 
not tell a soul about this. Really, I am more surprised 
at myself than you are. I'm glad I have some one in 
whom I can confide. 

Tell. So am I. (Exit Ima, c.) Some game of 
hearts that's being played around here. I wonder whose 
will get cracked or broken next. It's a wonderful game, 



THE GUEST RETAINER 37 

all right, all right. It's funny, but almost every one has 
to play it some time, in spite of themselves. I'm in luck, 
though 

Enter Sim., r. Wears new shirt, socks and tie. 

Sim. Howdy, most noble employer. How are things 
with you to-day? 

Tell. Slick-o-do-ri-ous, most esteemed charmer of 
antiquated femininity. 

Sim. Thought I'd drop in now for general orders for 
the day. How's business averaging? 

Tell. To tell the truth, I'm surprised at the way it 
has picked up. 

Sim. You know whom to blame for such a state of 
affairs, do you not? 

Tell. By George, I've got to admit that you are the 
original candy kid. 

Sim. Harry, I've been having the time of my young 
life. (Laughs.) I was out for a stroll with Ima, the 
man-hater, for a while this morning, and you should have 
heard me talking to her. You comprehend that common 
phrase " throwing the bull," do you not? If the King of 
Spain had heard me talking a few minutes ago, he would 
have given me the title of matador without hesitation, 
I'll venture that before long you will hear Miss Brayer 
talking about me. 

Tell. I have already. 

Sim. She'll be crazy about me soon. Take It from 
me, you can believe every word she says about your Uncle 
Dudley. 

Tell. I do. 

Sim. She thinks that I'm some boy. I know it. I 
don't get a minute to myself when she is around. If I 
happen to cruise along with some old " has been *' in toW; 
she manages to commandeer me in about five seconds. 

Enter Verne, l. 

Verne. Hello, Dick. You're doing fine. 

Sim. That's the way it appears to me. My praises 
are already being sung by the fairest in the land. Ask 
Harry, he knows. 



-28 THE GUEST RETAINER 

Tell. True, Miss Brayer'has just had an extended 
discussion with me about Dick. 

Verne. I have heard considerable ravings from one 
source or another myself. 

Sim. While I think of it I must call up and order 
my neck-wear for next week. I have made a decided hit 
with my cravats because I never wear the same one but 
one day. 

Verne. Use the 'phone in the office; it's more private. 

Sim. Thanks. [Exit l. 

Verne. Once again I must ask if you are not dum- 
founded with the success of my scheme. 

Tell. I think the heavens will fall next. You were 
absolutely right about Ima. She has just unburdened 
her heart to me — all because I was kidding her along 
about " equal rights " the other day, and she thought I 
meant what I said. She shows a few human character- 
istics which I thought she lacked altogether. 

Verne. I say it many times, and now again — I'm al- 
ways right. (Laughs.) As I am Cassle's confidant we 
can view this whirl-i-gig from several angles. It's really 
exciting. 

Tell. I wish you could have heard the blowing up 
the suffragette gave that conceited ass. 

Verne. The others take him seriously, don't they ? Just 
because this McArty-Simpson-Coffin-Brayer affair is so 
interesting we mustn't lose sight of the fact that Dick is 
doing wonderful work among the rest. It warms my 
heart to see the joy shine on those old maps as Dick 
strolls down the veranda. Each joy gleam means dollars 
in our pockets. 

Tell. They sure do. You've put it across again, 
Tom. 

Verne. They are all crazy over him 

Tell. Yea, he admits it himself. 

Verne. You should see them watch for him to enter 
the dining-room. It looks as if thev were expecting Mary 
Pickford or some other celeb. They won't make plans 
for anything until he has been consulted. In fact, he is 
the whole cheese around here. It's too rich to believe. 



THE GUEST RETAINER 39 

Tell. I once had a hunting dog, one of those fellows 
with a meek face and eyes like saucers. When I came 
home he would wag his tail and jump up and paw me all 
over, while those big eyes spoke adoration, and he'd look 
and look and look at me. I think of him every time the 
fat widow sees Dick heave in sight. 

Enter Sim., l. 

Sim. I've got a regular rainbow assortment on the 
way for next week. It will register some hit among my 
admirers. 

Verne. I believe you. You've made some knock-outs 
already. 

Tell. What have you to suggest to Dick to-day ? 

Verne {takes out note-hook). I think that a little 
tete-a-tete with the widow is in order directly after lunch. 

Sim. The one who weeps over the husband who died 
five years after she divorced him? 

Verne. No. I mean the fat one. Darn it, I forget 
that there are two. 

Tell. It would be wise to soothe Cassle with about 
four dances to-night. 

Verne. Perhaps Ima had better be left to her own de- 
vices until Coffin regains his equilibrium somewhat. 
Aren't they a couple of romantic old fools? 

Tell. Don't use the word " romantic " around here 
or your life will be in danger. It has been worn out by 
the author of " Hearts at Sea." 

Verne. When they both wake up there will be more 
joy around than there is at a colored revival meeting. 

Sim. Any more orders? 

Tell. Nothing specific. Just what we told you ; then 
follow the rules of the contract, as usual. 

Sim. Guess I'll run along and take some dame for a 
stroll — to earn my lunch. [Exit c. 

Verne {strolling toward door, r.). Harry, my boy, I'm 
exceptionally pleased at the way things are turning out at 
this " old, rundown dump," as you expressed it a couple 
of weeks ago. 

Tell. I'm agreeably disappointed myself. You've 



40 THE GUEST RETAINER 

surely got a lucky star shirting over you. Who but you 
would have thought of such a queer stunt to bring 
guests ? The news is spreading at a great rate. 

Verne {gazing out of door). Everything is running 
smoothly. There is only one thing that we must guard 
against. 

Tell. What is it? 

Verne. Open war between Cassie and Ima. I am 
afraid that they are about to sever diplomatic relations; 
and we can't afford to lose any guests even now. {Peers 
eagerly out of door.) Wow ! Do my eyes deceive me? 

Tell. What's the matter? 

Verne. Here comes a dream. Oh, boy! It will be 
some stunt to keep Dick on the job once he lamps this 
chicken. 

(Tell goes to door, r.) 

Tell. She has her suit-case. Do you think that she 
really intends to stop here? 

Verne {going behind desk). Looks that way. 
Tell. Some class ! 

Enter Birdie Lark, the "Eaglet." She is clad in an 
aviator's costume: leather coat, helmet and leggings. 
Carries a leather suit-case. 

Bird. Good-morning. Can I get accommodations 
here ? 

Verne. Certainly. Do you wish a room for the rest of 
the season ? 

Bird. About two weeks. 

Tell. Pardon me, but are you not the young lady 
known as the "Eaglet " ? 

Bird. Yes, yes. {Excitedly.) You didn't recognize 
me from that picture in the paper, did you? I hope it 
was not clear enough for that. 

Tell. That's queer. No, I didn't. I inferred from 
your costume that you must be she. I remember several 
people remarking about that cut in the paper. Your fea- 
tures were not the least bit distinct. 



THE GUEST RETAINER 4I 

Bird. Tm glad of it. 

Verne. That sounds funny. 

Bird. There are many aviators in ' the country who 
don't have reporters buzzing around them all the time. 
Just because I am a woman they try to make out that I 
am marvelous. I don't object to an occasional write-up, 
but I don't want my photo in the paper for personal rea- 
sons. The same reasons force me to be known as the 
" Eaglet." I'm not wonderful at all ; it is my little ma- 
chine that deserves all the praise. 

Verne. We are glad to have you with us, and will do 
our utmost to see that you are not annoyed by reporters. 

BjRD. Thank you. I shall appreciate it. As little as 
possible publicity is what I have come in search of. 

Tell. If you please, register. 

(Bird, registers. Verne exits l. with account book. 
Enter Ima and Cas., r. They stop short when they 
see Bird.) 

Cas. The Eaglet ! 

Ima. Goodness gracious ! 

(She hurries Cas. over to the desk.) 

Tell. Miss — er — er — Miss Eaglet, I would like you 
to meet Miss McArty and Miss Brayer. 

Bird. Very pleased, indeed. 

Cas. Oh, I thought that you were stopping at the 
Ocean House. 

Bird. I was ; but it is so noisy and crowded there, and 
I was so troubled by curiosity-boxes of every description 
that I decided to try a new place; so I just packed my 
bag and slipped out without saying a word to any one. 

Ima. I am sure that you will like it here. 

Tell (picking up suit-case). This way. Miss — er — er. 
Hang it. What will we call you? 

Bird, (with a laugh). Just say Eaglet. I'm so used 
to that now that I liave nearly forgotten my own name. 
Wasn't it silly of the papers to dub me that? 

Cas. We will see you at lunch, if not before. (Exeunt 



42 



THE GUEST RETAINER 



Bird, and Tell, c.) What unexpected pleasure shall we 
have next ? 

Ima. I wonder. I'll wager anything that she is in 
favor of the cause. One so fearless as she must long for 
independence in all ways. 

Cas. I know that she is a romantic little creature. 

Ima. I wonder how Mr. Simpson will take to her. 

Cas. He will pay no more attention to her than he 
does to lots of people. 

Ima. His attention amounts to considerable in some 
cases, I think you will admit. 

Cas. What do you mean ? 

Ima {with sarcasm). If it is over your head, my dear, 
never mind. 

{Both are now down c. facing each other.) 

Cas. I used to think that you were a friend of mine, 
but from your actions lately I shall have to conclude 
otherwise. 

Ima. Explain yourself ; I don't understand. 

Cas. I can explain in two words why you are no 
friend of mine. 

Ima. Say them. 

Cas. Mr. Simpson ! 

Ima {after a silent glare). May I say two words to 
you? 

Cas. Of course. 

Ima. Mr. Coffin ! 

Cas. You awful woman. 

Ima. No worse than you. 

Cas. I don't know about that. Perhaps it was you 
who turned Mr. Tell against me. You heap injury upon 
injury and then add insult. 

Ima. Insult? I'd like to forget that I am a lady, and 
scratch your eyes out, you — you insinuating hussy ! 

Cas. I could tear your hair out with joy, you — you 
vampire, you ! 

{They talk furiously. Enter Tell, c.) 

Tell. Why, ladies, what is the trouble? (Cas. stares 



THE GUEST RETAINER 43 

at him a moment and then exits r., crying. Ima wheels 
around and exits c. Tell looks first one way and then 
the other.) Talk about the monkey cage at the zoo — 
weVe got it beat right here. 

(Verne rises slowly from behind desk.) 

Verne. Ye gods, man. You should have heard that. 
It was rich. I thought I'd have to send in a riot call. I 
was in the office with the door open, and when it started 
I crawled out here and took in the whole show. 

Tell. What is it all about? 

Verne. They exchanged compliments and then pro- 
ceeded to wrangle over Coffin and Simpson. Even the 
Eaglet, who has just come, is mixed up in their love af- 
fairs; and you, my boy, were the straw that broke the 
camel's back. 

Tell. I was? 

Verne. Yes. Come into the office, and I'll give you a 
detailed report of the bout. 

{Exeunt Verne and Tell, l. After a pause Cof. sticks 
his head cautiously in door R., and after looking 
around enters.) 

CoF. Guess I can get a minute's peace here. I'll light 
up and soothe my frazzled nerves. (Lights pipe and paces 
hack and forth.) That authoress on top of all my other 
troubles is a terrific load, but I'll try to stand her until Ima 
is mine. {Smokes a moment in silence.) Lord, what 
a crazy old fool I am. After living all these years with 
immunity, at last I am robbed of my heart. — This love 
is all right if it's tvith you ; but you can feel damned blue 
if it's not. Poor Miss McArty. I pity her. It's laugh- 
able ; she is absolutely impossible. Tell, — Simpson. The 
poor old thing has gone out of her head. They are young 
fellows. {Pause.) It's different with me. Ima — Ima. 
Just at present she is a bit giddy over Simpson, but it 
won't last. — Let me see, how can I finish it quickly? 
{Puffs pipe vigorously.) I'll have to find some way, if 
I have to kill him.— What an old fool I am. {Enter 
Gas., r.) Hello, sister in distress. I came in here to be 



44 THE GUEST RETAINER 

alone, but! find it dangerous to think. I'm glad that you 
have come. 

Cas. It goes from worse to worse. Will things ever 
straighten out? I'm feeling absolutely desperate. 

CoF./ What do you say if we forget ourselves for a 
few minutes and talk about something cheerful ? 

Cas. That's a good suggestion. 

CoF. We must forget our worries a while or we will 
be all fagged out. 

Cas. I've some news. Who do you think is the latest 
arrival here? 

CoF. I'm sure I couldn't guess. Isn't any one of 
national prominence, is it ? 

Cas. Some one much talked of in this vicinity. 

CoF. I'm afraid that I shall have to give up. 

Cas. Can't you give one little guess? Well, I'll tell 
you. It is the Eaglet. 

CoF. No ! Well I declare. The Jerskeet will soon be 
quite famous. She's a nice little thing. I'm acquainted 
with her after a fashion. How in the world did she 
happen to come up here? 

Cas. To escape publicity. Mr. Tell and Mr. Verne 
are going to keep the newspaper men away, if possible. 

CoF. They will have some job. Those fellows are a 
hundred per cent pure nerve. 

Cas. If they do come up, couldn't you divert some of 
them my way? A little pubHcity wouldn't hurt my book. 
And er — if they should request it, I'd be willing to pose 
for a photograph. 

CoF. I'll fix it if possible. 

Cas. How do you happen to know the Eaglet? You 
don't know who she really is, do you? 

CoF. No. In fact, we have only a bowing acquaint- 
ance. I have been down around her hangar a great deal. 
I like to watch them fuss around that motor. It seems 
that for every minute of actual flying there is about an 
hour's tinkering to be done. 

Cas. Just think of flying up among the clouds all 
alone, miles away from any human being. It must be 
thrilling, to say nothing about the romance of it. 



THE GUEST RETAINER 45 

CoF. I wouldn't want to try it. Just imagine that 
slender little girl looping the loop and cutting all kinds of 
antics. It's wonderful. 

Cas. I should say so. Do you know 

CoF. Wait ! I've an inspiration. Now I see my way. 
It came like a flash. 

Cas. What is it? Do tell me. 

CoF. The Eaglet shall be the means of my getting 
back my Ima. 

Cas. For goodness' sake, how? 

CoF. Listen, listen. The Eaglet is level-headed, and 
I am sure that she will help me. 

Cas. You don't intend to kidnap Ima, do you? 

CoF. No, no. This is my scheme. I'll introduce 
Simpson to the Eaglet, and he will promptly fall in love. 
She won't mind him. If "she can conquer the air, she 
can surely handle a little hot air. When Ima sees that 
he has gone, she will forget her giddiness and come back 
to me. He is just a temporary attraction, I'm sure. 
Isn't that a great idea ? 

Cas. {greatly agitated). No, I don't think it is. 

CoF. Why in the world not? 

Cas. If Mr. Simpson should fall in love with her I 
would lose him forever. I'm sure that he is only teasing 
me about Miss Brayer, but the Eaglet is so attractive that 
it might last. 

CoF. What do you mean — " the Eaglet is so attract- 
ive " ? 

Cas. Pardon me, I didn't mean to cast reflections on 
any one. I am so upset that I can't think straight. But 
don't you see that I would surely lose him ? 

CoF. Have you got him now? 

Cas. No, not exactly. 

CoF. Then he might as well be one place as another. 

Cas. No. No! NO! 

CoF. That will be fair. You have two chances any- 
way: Tell and Simpson, while I have only one. 

Cas. Oh, if one didn't have to — to fall in love. That's 
what it is in plain language, isn't It? 

CoF. I'm afraid it is, dash the luck. 



»j6 thk guest retainer 

Cas. I — I don't see why that aviatrix had to come 
here. • 

CoF. Cheer up. It won't hurt your chances in the 
least, and it will improve mine. Won't you agree to it ? 

Cas. I must go up to my room and think it all out. 

(Starts to exit c, but meets Bird, coming in.) 

Bird. I am sorry that I didn't know of this place 
before. I am sure I shall like it. 

(CoF. R. c. Cas. and Bird, come down c.) 

Cas. I know you will. It is an ideal place. 

Bird, {sees Cof.). How do you do? I didn't know 
that you were stopping here. 

CoF. Yes, I have been here several weeks and can 
vouch for the place. 

Bird. Perhaps Miss McArty had better introduce us; 
I don't even know your name. Our meeting was rather 
unconventional, I think you will agree. 

CoF. Yes, Miss Eaglet, but as I am old enough to be 
your father, perhaps the prudes can't scold too much. 
{To Cas.) You see, she was standing on her head in 
the machine whacking away at the motor, when a wrench 
dropped. I was handy, and picked it up. 

Cas. What a romantic way to begin a friendship. 
Miss Eaglet, allow me to present Mr. Owen Coffin. 

CoF. Yesterday afternoon I saw you cutting some 
capers that made me hold my breath. 

Bird. It is perfectly safe; just like driving an auto. 

CoF. I'll stick to my flivver, thank you. 

Bird, {sees newspaper on desk). There's a paper. I 
wonder what those pests have written about me to-day. 
Two of them were around most of the time yesterday. 
They didn't get a picture of me, thank goodness. 

{Looks through paper.) 

CoF. {to Cas.). Now is the time to get Simpson and 
start things. He*s on the veranda. Do you mind if I 
get him? 

Cas. Yes No All right. 



THE GUEST RETAINER 47 

CoF. I'm off on the road to recovery — of Ima. 

\ Exit R 

Cas. What shall I do ! 

Bird, {putting down paper). Where has Mr. Coffin 
gone? 

Cas. He is coming right back. Anything in the 
paper ? 

Bird. No, I guess they wanted a photo. I had a ter- 
rible time dodging the camera. It would be awful if my 
picture were to get in the paper. 

Cas. {looks out door, r. Aside). Here they come. 
{Glances around in despair.) It is nearly lunch time, my 
dear. {Urges Bird, toward door, c.) If you are going 
to get out of those queer togs you will have to hurry. 

Bird. I don't think that I shall bother, as I am going 
to fly directly after lunch. 

Cas. {grabs Bird, hy the arm. In despair). Eaglet, 
please come up to my room a moment, I have something I 
would like you to see. 

(Cas. rushes Bird, ojf c. Just as they disappear Cof. 
and Sim. enter r.) 

CoF. Well, I declare. I left them here not a minute 
ago. 

Sim. If she is such a peach as you say, hunt her up 
this minute. 

CoF. Dash it all ; I think I 'm hoodooed. 

Sim. Why? 

CoF. Nothing, nothing. This is most exasperating. 
I'm going out. Coming? 

Sim. No. Now that I am here guess I'll read the 
paper. 

Cof. All right. [Exit R. 

(Sim. takes paper from desk and sits on divan.) 

Sim. This job is the softest cinch I've ever had. I'm 
sure enjoying myself. Every one in the place is daffy over 
me except poor old Ima. I know she thinks I'm a fool ; 
but it is all the old biddies who are fools. I'm just having 
a good time. Dear Cassie is in love with me. Now isn't 



48 THE GUEST RETAINER 

that pathetic? {Enter Verne, l., unobserved by Sim.) 
Tm sure enjoying myself. • 

Verne. Are you ? 

Sim. {swingmg around quickly). Oh, it's you. You 
bet your sweet Hfe I am. 

Verne. I should think you would be all in. You 
can't keep this up much longer. You will have to break 
your contract. 

Sim. Not for a million dollars. 

Enter Tell, c. 

Tell. What's this about a million dollars? 

Verne, He says he won't have to break his contract. 

Tell. Boy, if you can live through two more weeks 
like the last two, you have some constitution. 

Verne. Life seems to be one round of honeyed sweets 
just now, but you will soon be sick of them. 

Sim. Gents, I thrive on " honeyed sweets." 

Tell {points out r. ). Here comes Ima. 

Sim. Stick around. I'll give you a grandstand exhi- 
bition. 

Verne. Fine. 

Tell. Go to it. 

{Throughout follozving scene Verne and Tell are 

behind desk, l., presumably zvorkmg at the books, 

but really paying attention to the others. Enter 
Ima, r.) 

Sim. Well, well. Thinking of angels — I was just 
longing for a few minutes of your company. 

Ima. You don't say so. 

SrM. But I do say so. Won't you sit down? 

Ima. No, thank you. {Walks across stage in deep 
thought. Turns to come back zvhcn Cas. enters c.) 
Yes, thank you. 

{Sits at R. of Sim. on divan.) 

Cas. I'm about starved. How soon will lunch be 
ready ? 

Ima. The bell will ring. 



THE GUEST RETAINER 49 

Cas. Thank you a thousand times. 

Sim. Won't you sit down while you are waiting? 

Cas. I presume there is room for me, Miss Brayer ? 

I MA. I presume so. 

(Cas. sits at l. of Sim.) 

Sim. Isn't it a Httle cool around here? 

Ima {ahriiptly). Mr. Simpson, if you ever marry, do 
you intend to let your wife control the financial affairs of 
the family ? 

Sim. Don't talk about such trifles. Do you know, I 
think you are charming in that dress. 

Cas. Have you the time, Mr. Simpson? 

Sim. {glances quickly at watch). It's eleven fifty. 
{To Ima.) I wish you would call me Dick. 

Ima. Really ! 

Sim. Honest and true. You're so much old — whoa ! 
I mean it is so much more friendly. 

Ima. Have you ever studied psychology — Dick? 

(Cas. starts at the name ''Dick." Ima notices it, 
and enjoys it.) 

Sim. Almost. You see, my dancing class conflicted, 
so I didn't get very far. 

Ima. Too bad. 

Cas. Do you like to study literature, Dick — I mean 
Mr. Simpson? 

Sim. Sure. Never miss the Police Gazette. Say, 
you call me Dicky. 

(Ima is disgusted.) 

Cas. {overjoyed). Oh, may I? Then you may call 
me Cassandra. 

Sim. Miss Brayer, how soon do you think that there 
will be a woman governor in New York? 

Ima. Are you really interested in suffrage, — Dick? 

Sim. I am never so happy as when discussing it. 

Cas. {aside). My poor heart will break. He ignores 
me entirely. O, cruel, cruel fate. What shall I do? 

Enter Cof., r. 



50 THE GUEST RETAINER 

CoF. Nearly lunch time^ isn't it? (Sim. and Ima 
merely nod. Ima moves nearer to Sim., which Cas. and 
CoF. both perceive. They glance at each other under- 
standingly.) May I take you in to lunch, Miss McArty? 

Cas. I'd be delighted. 

CoF. Shall we go out on the piazza until it is ready? 
It is more quiet and secluded there. 

Cas. (rises and takes his arm). Yes, I'd love to. 

(Cas. and Cof. haughtily stalk across and exeunt r.) 

Ima. That wretch! (Drags Sim. to his feet.) Come 
on, we can stroll on the piazza, too. [Exeunt r. 

Tell. Holy smoke! There's a hornet's nest stirred 
up now. 

Verne. Who would have thought that one little 
shrimp like Dick could work such havoc ? 

Tell. I'm not responsible for anything that happens, 
Tom. You are captain of this ship, and you had better 
get ready for a big storm. 

Enter Cof. and Cas., r. They cross to l. c. 

CoF. (angrily). I guess that they can have the veranda 
if they wish it. 

Cas. This is horrible, simply horrible. 

(Falls on Cof.'s shoulder and weeps. Lunch hell rings 
in distance.) 

Cof. (pats her hack and tries to comfort her). There, 
there. 

Enter Ima and Sim., r. They see Cof. and Cas. ap- 
parently emhracing. 

Ima. This is too much ; my heart will break. 

(Ima throws her arms around Sim.'s shoidders and 
cries. Enter Bird., c. She stops short when she 
sees Sim., and screams.) 

Bird. Dick ! Dick ! What does this mean ? 
Sim. Good Heavens, Birdie ! 

(Shakes off Ima, and exits r. hurriedly.) 



THE GUEST RETAINER 5I 

Bird. Dick, Dick! (Rims off r. after him.) 

Cas. Oh, Dicky, Dicky. [Exit r. 

(Ima stares at Cof. a moment, then exits r., crying.) 

CoF. Ima, Ima ! Oh, my dear ! [Exit r. 

(Tell and Verne rush c, and stand speechless a 
moment. ) 

Tell. What in the name of 

Verne. Who is Birdie? 

CURTAIN 



ACT III 

SCENE. — The same. Morning of August 15. There is 
a great pile of letters on the desk. Curtain discovers 
Tell standing in entrance, c. Verne is behind desk 
opening and reading letters. Sim., attired in still an- 
other brilliant shirt and tie, is rapidly pacing back and 
forth. His hair is disheveled, and he holds his wrist- 
watch up before his eyes. In following scene neither 
Tell nor Verne pay any attention to him, being busy 
with letters where other business is not indicated. 

Sim. Ye gods! Why won't you fiends listen to me? 
Tell (calling out c). Hopper, Hopper, hurry up. 
(To Verne.) That boy is slow. 

Enter Hopper, c, on the run. 

Tell. Ice water to twenty-three; hot water to forty- 
four. Get a hustle on. 

Hop. Yes, sir. (Dashes off c. 'Phone rings.) 

Verne (at 'phone). Hotel Jerskeet? Sorry, but 

we are full for the rest of the season Absolutely 

No, not even a room on the top floor rear. Good-bye. 

Tell. Another? 

Verne. Yes. We can't keep 'em away. Here, help 
me open these letters and sort them. They should have 
been answered last night, but I was swamped with work. 
Most of them are for reservations; too bad we have got 
to turn them all down, but there is not an inch of room 
left. 

Sim. Boys, boys, be human. Won't you listen to me 
a moment? 

(Sim. drops exhausted on divan. Yernets busy with 
letters. House 'phone buzzes ; Tell answers.) 

Tell. Hello Sorry, Miss Richman, but you gave 

notice that you were going to-day, and some one is waiting 

52 



THE GUEST RETAINER 53 

for the room; otherwise we would be deHghted to have 

you stay longer No, there isn't an available cot. 

Sorry to lose you. Good-bye. 

Verne. We will have to go to Palm Beach next winter 
to rest up from this rush. 

Tell. You bet. We're rolling up coin now. And to 
think that I called you a fool to buy this place. Tom, 
forgive me, forgive me. 

Sim. Look here! Can't you spare me a minute? 
(llipes face with handkerchief and paces back and forth 
again. ) I didn't think that you boys could be so cruel to 
me. — Oh, Birdie, Birdie! 

Verne {holding up a letter). What a shame. Here's 
a letter from a sewing-circle that wants accommodations 
for seventeen members over the week-end. (Reads.) 
" We have decided upon the Hotel Jerskeet on account of 
the delightful way Miss Cassandra McArty writes of it." 

Tell. Too bad we will have to let them go. 

Verne. Never mind, we have three conventions landed 
for next summer, — all women's affairs, too. I'm going 
to wear a Prince Albert and a stove-pipe. 

Tell. If you do, I'll raise a goatee and carry a cane. 

Sim. And I'll have a coffin wrapped around me if 
you two don't have a heart. 

Verne (dramatically). Our success proves that real 
ambition cannot be downed. 

Tell. That sounds like the eminent writer, Miss Cas- 
sandra McArty. 

Sim. (mith a groan) . O-o-o-oh ! 

Enter Hop., c. 

Hop. Gee, the ice water tipped me two bits, and the 
hot water came through, too. 

Tell (with authority). Boy, run along and get the 
mail. Don't waste a minute talking. 

Hop. 'Right, sir. 

(Gets a huge mail-sack from under desk and exits r.) 

Tell. To think that / used to go for the mail — and 
bring it all back in my pocket ! 



54 THE GUEST ITETAINER 

Verne. Come into the office and help me answer these 
letters. We will have to get a stenographer, that's all 
there is to it. {Takes armful of letters.) Gather up the 
rest of those, Harry. 

Sim. {frantically). See here, you've got to listen to 
me. I'm going insane. Don't leave me. 

{Exeunt Verne and Tell, l., slamming door in Sim.*s 
face. He again paces hack and forth. Enter Ima, 
R., and meets him face to face. He sinks down on 
divan. ) 

' Ima {abruptly). Well, what's the matter with you? 

Sim. Oh, I feel so sick. 

Ima. You look like a jelly-fish all slumped down there. 
Where's your spine? 

Sim. Wh-what? 

Ima. I should think you would be sick. Why don't 
you get out with some of the men and rough it up a bit? 
It would do you good. 

Sim. How humorous you are to-day. Miss Brayer. 

Ima. I don't intend to be. I'm sick, too. — Of you ! 

Sim. Wh-what? 

Ima. I say that I have stood you as long as it is 
humanly possible, you nonentity, you essence of inanity. 

Sim. I — I don't get you. 

Ima. You will get all of me you want before I get 
through. I'm going to heap glowing coals upon your 
head, and see if it will thaw out your gray matter. (Sim. 
does not stir.) You pitiful sight. And in my home 
town you could vote and I couldn't ! This may be cruel, 
but some day you will thank me for it. Why don't you 
be a man instead of an animated tailor's dummy? You 
are just about as useful as a leather nickel. 

Sim. I — I think that you misjudge me. Miss Brayer. 

(CoF. appears in door, r., but is unobserved.) 

Ima. Misjudge nothing. Don't you think I have had 
ample opportunity to size you up the last few weeks ? 
Sim. Too much opportunity. 



THE GUEST RETAINER 55 

I MA. As a rule I stick to a thing until I gain my end, 
but this time it is unendurable. I've got to give in. I 
don't know how I have lived through these last few days. 

Sim. {looki?tg at zvatcli). Nor I. 

Iaia. I'm going away to-day. I don't want to, but I 
must. For once I can't gain my end. 

Sim. What do you mean? 

I MA. I mean — nothing. Oh, I don't want to ever see 
you again. 

Sim. Mutually agreed. 

I ma. Leave my sight this instant, you vacuum skulled 
ladies' delight. 

(Sim. miserably hurries off c. Iima sits on divan with 
a sigh. Cof., still unseen, crosses to her.) 

CoF. Miss Brayer. 

I MA. Oh, how you frightened me ! 

CoF. May I talk with you a little w^hile ? 

Ima {coldly). Kyq you sure you can spare the time? 

Cof. What do you mean ? 

Ima. Perhaps Miss McArty is looking for you. 

CoF. She can look for me from now until the crack 
of doom, and I'll try my best to evade her until that 
time. 

Ima. You don't really mean that ? 

CoF. I do. I swear by all that is holy that I do. 
Miss Brayer, I happened to hear what you said to Simp- 
son. Did you really mean it ? Have you sent him from 
you forever? 

Ima. I most certainly have. 

CoF. You don't know how good that sounds to me. 

Ima. Why should it? 

CoF. Perhaps I can manage to say something I have 
wanted to say for a long time. Perhaps it means that my 
dream of happiness is about to be realized. 

Ima {zvith a triumphant look). Mr. Coflfin, do you 
know that you are not speaking to Cassandra McArty? 

CoF. Cassandra McArty be damned ! Pardon me. 
Ima, I love you. I've loved you for weeks. I've tried to 
get an opportunity to tell you, but somehow we seemed 



56 THE GUEST RETAINER 

to drift apart just as I was about to speak. Simpson 
was the wedge which came between us, but I have just 
seen you send him from you. Ima, will you marry me? 
Will you be my wife? 

Ima {greatly flustered). Do you mean what you say 
about Miss McArty? Are you sure you don't care for 
her ? 

CoF. I don't want any more to do with her than you 
do with Simpson. She has nearly drivfen me crazy with 
her twaddle. There has been romance in everything from 
the Satwrday night beans to that infernal Lord Islington. 
I am done with her forever. It never amounted to any- 
thing, anyway. I can explain it all to you later. Don't 
keep me in suspense, Ima dear, answer me. Will you be 
my wife? 

Ima {extending her arms to him). Owen dear, I will. 
{They embrace.) Owen. 

CoF. Yes, love. 

Ima. I shall have to resign as president of the Single 
Blessedness Club. I am breaking the only rule which 
demands expulsion. 

CoF. Never mind, my dear, we will start a little club 
of our own. We are both charter members. 

Ima. Owen, I'm so happy. 

CoF. I have a confession to make. I must explain 
why I have been seen so much with that — that scribbler. 

Ima. Yes? 

CoF. I had an insane idea that perhaps it would arouse 
your jealousy and give me a chance to win you back from 
Simpson. It was a mean thing to do, I know. Will you 
forgive me ? 

Ima. Forgive you for a little thing like that? 

CoF. Don't judge me too harshly. I know it was a 
childish thing to do, but I loved you so ! 

Ima (softly). Owen, I was seen with Simpson for the 
very same reason. But I was well punished for my fool- 
ishness. How I regret the hours I wasted in his com- 
pany. He is intolerable. I simply had to give him a 
terrible talking to this morning; I couldn't stand him any 
longer. 



THE GUEST RETAINER 57 

CoF. It is lucky that I heard you, or I should never 
have had the courage to ask you — what I did. (LaugJis.) 
1 was as bad off with friend Cassie as you were with 
Simpson. I told her two days ago that I couldn't stand 
it any longer, and broke my agreement with her. 

Ima. What agreement ? 

CoF. I'll explain later. It was simply a plot so that 
I could get you. 

IjMA. You dear boy. (They embrace.) 

CoF. I guess we were only going through what all 
young folks must meet. We simply wouldn't realize that ^ 
each wanted the other. I even thought that I was too 
forward. 

Ima. Why, I had the same idea of myself. 

CoF. But we understand each other now. By George, 
isn't it glorious ! 

Ima. I guess that the old saying " Love is blind " can 
be applied to our case. Were we not big sillies not to 
have realized long ago what we have just awakened to? 

CoF. Never mind, we have our big, glorious future 
before us. Come, my dear, let's go out and sit in the 
hammock. 

(Exeunt Cof. and Ima, r. Enter Sim., c, slowly, gaz- 
ing at watch. He goes to office door, l., and knocks 
several times before getting any response. Finally 
Tell opens door and steps out, followed by Verne.) 

Tell. Well, what the devil do you want? 

Sim. (in a zvhisper). Boys, boys, what time is it by 
your watches? Will eleven o'clock never come? 

Verne (glancing at watch). Buck up. It's ten forty. 

Tell. About all in? (Dances around Sim.) I told 
you so ; I told you so. 

Sim. So you have informed me many times in the 
last ten days. 

Verne. Can you remember when you said " I am 
sure enjoying myself " ? 

Sim. I've never been so tormented in my life. Eleven 
o'clock, hurry with thy blessed relief ! 

Tell. " I thrive on honeyed sweets." 



5g THE GUEST RETAINER 

Sim. Can it. Why didn't you fellows relent and let 
me have one evening to myself? Oh, the horror of this 
month. I wonder if I can stick it out until eleven o'clock. 
(Sinks dozvn on divan; shakes watch and anxiously looks 
at it.) If Cassie will stay away a few minutes I may 
survive, but I can't stand the sight of her until after 
eleven o'clock. 

Verne. You remember the terms of the contract. We 
have been trying faithfully to keep our part of them; see 
that you do as well. 

Sim. I know you have. One evening a week to my- 
self would have kept me in trim, but you wouldn't let up 
on me. 

Tell. Article five says that you are subject to orders 
from five a. m. until midnight. 

Sim. {savagely). I never want to dance again, I'm 
dizzy from dancing. If you ever catch me sipping after- 
noon tea again, shoot me at sight. I swear that I will 
never look at another woman except Birdie. {Mourn- 
fidly.) You wouldn't explain to Birdie. She has been 
under the same roof with me for two weeks, and hasn't 
spoken a word since that awkward moment when I first 
saw her. 

Tell. The first rule of the contract reads " This 
understanding is to be kept absolutely secret." You can 
do your own explaining in a few minutes. 

Sim. If you knew how I fear Cassie now, you would 
give me the few remaining moments out of pity. She 
let up for quite a while, but the last two days she has 
been after me harder than ever. You made me take a 
walk with her at sunrise this morning, and let me tell 
you, it almost finished me. 

Tell. Business is business. 

Verne. You can break your contract if you wish. 
You know what the last rule says about photos and news- 
papers. 

Sim. See if Cassie is coming. I'm too weak to move. 

Verne. She is liable to come at any moment; she 
knows it's mail time. And Dicky, you make these last 
few minutes happy ones for her. Eleven o'clock sounds 



THE GUEST RETAINER 59 

the death knell of her happiness. Let the partnership 
of Tom, Dick and Harry end in a blaze of glory. 

Sim. Was there ever a more diabolical scheme in- 
vented to torture a human soul ! For a month now, I 
have been at the beck and call of every female here. I 
haven't had a minute to myself. It was great for a while, 
but when they began coming in droves it was more than 
any man could stand. Each one that came brought about 
five more. It was a regular endless chain. I was fought 
over like the last piece of meat among a pack of hungry 
wolves. It is horrible. What time is it? 

{Shakes watch and looks at it.) 

Verne. Listen to what you have done, Dick. I 
balanced accounts this morning, and I find that already we 
have cleared more than the old proprietor the last three 
summers put together. 

Tell. Is that straight? 

Verne. Gospel truth. 

{Some one heard approaching off R.) 

Sim. Listen! Is that Cassie coming? 

(Sim. starts for door, c. Tell ptdls picture from his 
pocket, and Verne the contract.) 

Tell. See the pretty picture. 

(Sim. stops in door, c, zvith eyes glued on r. entrance. 
Enter Hop., r., zvith mail-sack, zuhich he throzvs on 
desk. House 'phone buzzes. Tell anszjvers.) 

Tell. Hello Yes. {To Hop.) You're just in 

time, Hopper. Beat it up to room five twenty-five. That's 
top floor rear, you know. 

Hop. Can't I ever have a minute's rest ? 

Tell. Not around here. This is a regular hotel. 

[Exit Hop., c, on the run. 

Verne. You delight in bossing that fellow around, 
don't you ? 

Tell. In memory of the time I did all those things. 



60 THE GUEST RETAINER 

Verne {leans over desk looking intently out R.). Look 
out the door. See what's coming. 

Sim. Now I'm in for it. Always remember me, boys. 

Enter Cof. and I ma, c, arm in arm. 

CoF. (to I ma). We were right. (To others.) 
Thought we heard voices and have come in to tell you 
some good news. 

Tell. We are all ears. 

Cof. Come on, every one, congratulations are in order 
for me. Miss Brayer will not be Miss Brayer very much 
longer. What do you think of that? I am going to the 
city to-morrow to get the ring. 

Tell. I'm mighty glad. 

Verne. I told you so, Harry. 

Sim. Congratulations. I hope that you will both for- 
give me for any hard feeling I may have caused. 

CoF. Certainly, certainly, my boy. 

Ima. Owen, I feel so embarrassed. 

CoF. I feel as happy as a lark. 

Ima. Let's go back to the hammock, dear. [Exeunt r. 

Sim. Won't you please let me off now? 

Verne. Stick it out. We will send you away later 
for a rest cure. 

Sim. If you will only give me these last few minutes 
I'll be happy. It is almost the hour. Haven't you got 
ten minutes* worth of mercy? 

Tell. Sure, if you will step to the 'phone and get a 
reporter on the way down for this. 

(Drazvs photo_ from pocket.) 

Verne (taking out contract). And this. 
Sim. What a fool I've been. What a fool ! 

Enter Bird., c, clad in pretty summer Jrock. 

Bird. Dick. 

Sim. Birdie, are you going to speak to me at last? 
Bird. I am going home this afternoon, and I have 
something to say before I leave. 

(Verne and Tell go behind desk.) 



THE GUEST RETAINER 6l 

Sim. {eagerly). Yes, yes, honey. 

Bird. If you can explain that outrageous sight which 
met my eyes when I came here, and your various per- 
formances ever since, all well and good; if not, our 
engagement is off. 

Sim. Birdie ! 

Bird. Absolutely off. 

Sim. I can explain. You will understand. You 

see (Verne and Tell wave photo and cojttraet at 

him.) I — I can't explain now, but I will make it clear 
very soon. 

Bird. I want to know now. Oh, Dick, if you don't 
want to wipe away the last bit of faith I have in you, you 
will speak up. I've been suffering terribly the last two 
weeks 

Sim. Ye gods! Haven't I suffered, too? You 
wouldn't speak to me, and you would continue to risk 
your neck in that darned flying-machine. Yoii have suf- 
fered ! 

Bird. Well, talk up like a man, and clear away the 
clouds. 

Sim. I — I can't now. I'll tell you later; give me a 
little time to think. (Looks at watch.) 

Bird. Your only need of time is to conjure up some 
fable. I want the truth. 

Sim. I'll tell you everything; you will understand if 
you will only wait a while. 

Bird, (glances at her watch). It is now ten minutes to 
eleven. I will give you those ten minutes. You must 
tell me before eleven o'clock or all is over between us. 
I shall be back before then. [Exit c. 

Sim. You damnable fiends! Now see what you have 
got me into. I'll lose her anyway. If that stuff gets in 
the paper it will queer me with her people, and if I don't 
tell her she leaves me. (Paces zvildly about.) Why, oh 
why, was I such an idiot? If that McArty woman comes 
in here before eleven o'clock I swear vengeance on both 
of you if I have to devote the rest of my life to it. 
(Shakes watch.) What time is it? Has this thing 
stopped ? 



62 THE GUEST RETAINER 

Tell (to Verne). " I sure am enjoying myself." 

Verne (to Tell). "I thrive on honeyed sweets." 

Sim. Shut up, you fiends in human form. 

Tell. It is almost time to discuss the renewal of your 
contract. We are well satisfied with your work, and are 
willing to take you on permanently. 

wSiM. Don't talk like a raving maniac. New Jersey 
wnll never see me again. I hope your business goes 
smash when I go. 

Verne. It won't. We shall merely bait our line again 
and catch another sucker. 

Tell (looking out r. ). Holy jumping monkeys! 

vSiM. What time is it, I ask you. I think that my 
watch has stopped. 

Verne (consulUng zvatch). Ten fifty-three. 

Sim. Only seven more minutes. 

Tell. And here comes Cassie. 

Sim. Good-night. (Rushes to door, c.) 

Tell. Wait. Remember your contract. You know 
what will happen if you break it. 

Verne (holding up seven fingers). Come back for 
seven short minutes and you are free. 

Sim. I'll make a desperate effort to survive. (Sits on 
divan, grimly eying watch, zvhich he 'almost continuously 
looks at during following scene.) Don't you boys leave 
me alone. 

Tell. We will be back very soon. 

Verne. Important business to look after. [Exeunt c. 

Sim. Now for the final round. If I can only hold 
out. (Looks at watch.) Six minutes and a half. 

Enter Cas., r. 

Cas. Dicky, I've been hunting all over the place for 
you. I have some most thrilling news. What do you 
think? Mr. Coffin and Ima have announced their engage- 
ment. Isn't that absolutely the most romantic affair of 
which you have ever heard? Their clouds have rolled 
away and the glorious sunshine is everywhere. 

Sim. (aside). Help! Mm-der! 



THE GUEST RETAINER 63 

Cas. Mr. Coffin is a happy man, and Ima is a lucky 
woman. 

Sim. (aside). I'm neither happy nor lucky. 

Cas. Don't you think that they make a stunning pair? 

Sim. Yes. I feel stunned, too. 

Cas. (sitting beside him). Do you know, sometimes 
when I see others starting off on their happy voyages 
together it just makes my lonely heart ache. 

Sim. I feel sorry for you. 

Cas. This summer — in fact, during the last few 
weeks — I have been thinking very seriously of attempting 
to embark on a voyage of my own. 

Sim. I guess it's just the eft'ect of the summer 
weather. Many people have these summer attacks every 
year, but they disappear with the first frost. 

Cas. That is what I have always believed until this 
summer. I have often looked on and smiled at the young 
people who fell in love on the Fourth of July and out 
again Labor Day. Those little affairs are so interesting; 
but I was always sure that none of them lasted beyond 
that. 

Sim. (business with watch). What's the difference 

ROW? 

Cas. This year I have discovered one of those little 
summer affairs which I hope will become lasting. (Pauses 
and smiles at him.) I feel sure that this summer I have 
found my mate. I am sure his soul is in tune with mine. 

(She sits looking dreamily into space.) 

Sim. Holy smoke, why doesn't she quit? What's 
coming next ? 

Cas. Do you remember the morning a few weeks ago 
when Ima and her groom-to-be and we were discussing 
the proposal of marriage by women? 

Sim. Yes. (Aside.) Why doesn't the clock strike? 
Why, oh, why? 

Cas. I have been thinking it over a great deal since 
then, and I don't see why a woman hasn't the right, if 
she wishes to exercise it. 



64 THE GUEST RETAINER 

• 

Sim. {emphatically). I don't agree with you; not in 
the least. 

Cas. I had hoped that you didn't feel that way, be- 
cause {A very long pause. She gazes steadily at 

him; he returns it a moment then looks at zvatch; then.) 
Dicky, can't you see that I love you ? All summer I have 
been thinking only of you. I have quite a few thousands 
in the bank, and a good home in the city. Won't you 
share them with me? 

Sim. {much flustered. With a silly grin). Oh, this is 
so sudden. 

Cas. I'm serious, Dicky, I was never so much in 
earnest in my life. {She slowly gets down on her knees.) 
Dick, will you be my husband? Will you marry me? 

{Clock in distance strikes eleven. Cas., on knees gazes 
at Sim., who is staring at watch and counting the 
strokes half aloud. At sixth stroke Bird, appears in 
door, c, hut is not seen. As last stroke dies out 
Sim. speaks.) 

Sim. Eleven o'clock. Saved ! Saved ! My slavery 
is ended. 

Bird. I have come for yotir explanation. 

{When Cas. sees Bird, she drops from her knees to all 
fours. Sim. is speechless.) 

Cas. Mr. Simpson, will you help me find that dime I 
dropped ? — Never mind, I have it. 

{Rises and quickly exits R.) 

Bird. So you needed time to think it over. You need 
not attempt to explain anything after the ridiculous scene 
I have just witnessed. 

Sim. Yes, yes, I can tell you all now. You must keep 
your agreement. It is just eleven. I shall tell you every- 
thing; and now that I am going to do so, I think that 
there is some explanation due me. I was astounded when 
I found out that you were the Eaglet. 

Bird. Easily explained. When you went away to 
really earn your living for the stunmer, I was so lonesome 



THE GUEST RETAINER 65 

that I had to do something to take up my mind, and I 
decided to study aviation. Of course, I couldn't use my 
own name as that would have brought Dad on the run 
and ended my flying. I'll venture that your explanation 
is not so simple. 

Enter Tell and Verne, c. 

Sim. More explanations needed. Fellows, what do 
you think ? Cassie proposed to me, but I swear upon my 
honor that the clock struck before I had to answer. 
Birdie can testify to that if she will. 

Verne. And you still live. You are a hero ! 

Tell. Pardon me, do you mind telling us who the 
Eaglet is? We know that she is Birdie, but who is 
Birdie ? 

Bird, {to Sim.). Go ahead, let's clean things up. Tell 
them everything — contract and all. 

Verne. Contract ! Did he tell you ? Harry, get Wil- 
liam Randolph Hearst on the wire ; we'll fix him. 

Sim. Hold on; this is just one of my contracts. 

Bird. Then I hope that you can explain your conduct. 
I always knew that you were a bit of a flirt, but I didn't 
think that you would go to such extremes as I have seen 
during the last two weeks. 

Sim. Boys, this is my fiancee. Miss Birdie Lark. Now 
the truth. I am really rotten with money, and have 
never done a stroke of work in my life. Birdie insisted 
that I live on just a few dollars a week this summer to 
prove that I could settle down and be a man, before we 
are married in the fall. I signed an agreement with her — 
you see I had 'em all 'round — to start with just a hundred 
dollars in my pocket, and live a hundred days away from 
home without any more money unless I earned it. 

Bird, I don't see that you have. And how do you 
explain the numerous affairs you have been carrying on 
around here? Remember, I have been watching you. 
{Pleadingly.) Dick, don't you know how I have been 
hoping and praying that this summer would make a man 
out of you. Our whole future depended on it. 

Tell. Miss Lark, don't you worry. When he gets 



66 THE GUEST RETAINER 

rested you will find him a real liVe man. That boy has 
worked this summer. He has nearly worked his darned 
head off. I'll guarantee that he will make a good hus- 
band. Tom, just show her our contract. 

Verne (handing contract to her). Read that. 

Tell. You have kept both contracts to the letter, I 
guess, but you came very near spoiling at least one of 
them. 

Sim. Boys, I have learned some valuable lessons, and 
I shall have to thank you that I did. I have never had to 
do anything before if I didn't want to — not in my life. 
This summer I've learned to stick through a thing to the 
finish. It was nearly the finish of me, but I know now 
that I am in trim for more important affairs. 

Tell. What will become of Cassie? 

Verne. I guess that she reverts to you. 

Tell. No, sir ! I'll do a Steve Brodie into the briny 
first. 

Bird, {rolling up contract). Did he carry that out? 

Verne. To the letter. 

Bird, {to Sim.). You have more perseverance than I 
thought. You'll come around all right when you get in 
the office with Dad. 

Enter Ima and Cof., r. 

Verne. Miss Brayer, let me present another happy 
pair — Miss Birdie Lark and Mr. Richard Simpson. 

Cof. Congratulations, Simpson; but isn't this rather 
sudden ? 

Verne. Explanations are in order all around. 

Ima. Well, young man, I congratulate you; but my 
dear Eaglet, you will have a struggle, a very great strug- 
gle, I am afraid. 

CoF. I have never seen a livelier summer in my life. 
It's been one continual game of hearts. 

Verne {pointing off r.). It's not over yet ; here comes 
Cassie. 

Sim. Birdie dear, take hold of my arm, and hang on 
to me ; I may have a fainting attack. 

Enter Cas., r. 



THE GUEST RETAINER 67 

Tell. Miss McArty, allow me to present Miss Lark, 
Mr. Simpson's fiancee. 

Cas. (in a daze). Wh-what? Oh, Dicky. Oh, oh! 
{Suddenly.) Mr. Verne, I have decided to leave for 
home to-night. Good-bye, every one. Good-bye, Mr. 
Tell. Oh, by the way, will you be here next summer? 

Tell. I expect to. 

Gas. Mr. Verne, you may expect me next year for the 
entire season. 

Enter Hop., c. 

Hop. Telegram for Mr. Tell. 

Tell {opens and reads; appears greatly excited). 
Read this and explain to the folks, Tom. 

{Hands telegram to Verne.) 

Verne. For the love of Mike. It's from his wife. 

Gas. His wife? His wife? 

Verne. Listen to this. {Reads.) " It happened this 
morning. It's twins. All doing well." 

Gas. I have changed my mind; I shall not be back 
next year. Good-bye. 

Tell. Gee, I'm a dad ! 

Gas. {as she slozvly goes toward R. exit; to herself). 
Ah, cruel fate ! Romance is not for me. 

(GoF. and Ima, r. c. Sim. and Bird., l. c. Tell and 
Verne, c, shaking hands. Hop. hack c.) 

GURTAIN 



THE BEANTOWN CHOIR 

A Farcical Entertainment in Three Acts 
By Wa/ier Ben Hare 
Two men, ten women, male and female quartettes and two men for 
tableaux. Scenery, unimportant, an interior if any ; costumes, modern 
and eccentric. Plays a full evening. No royalty. T?he Widow Wood's 
projects to honor the memory of Brother Botts, the former choir director 
and to marry the minister both come to grief after a series of side-splitting 
adventures. A riot of mere fun introducing sole and concerted music and 
specialties ; a frame for a musical or vaudeville entertainment. Strongly 
recommended. 

Price, 55 <:ents 

CHARACTERS 

The Widow Wood, of course she would, all widows would. 

Beth Wood, her stepdaughter, a real sweet girl. 

Hezekiah Dooi^iTTi^K, Jest as full of 7nischief as a dog is fleas. 

Mrs. Do-ree-mee Scales, the director of the choir, pity her I 

Belinda Snix, who orter be in grand opera, or somewheres. 

Tessie Tooms, who piajins and organs jest lovely. 

Sallie Etta Pickle, who takes high Cjest like a cough-drop. 

Mandy Hamslinger, her voice was cultivated on the cultivator. 

Birdie Cackle, a twittering birdie who sings like a lark, erswnp'm. 

Grandmaw Howler, who d be a good singer yet, if her voice had 

'a' held out. 
Samantha Sniggins, aged eight, little, but — oh, my ! 
Bashful Bill Boomer, long on bass but short on nerve. 

Male Quartet, and two Men for Tableau. Jedediah Girls qtiarieL 

WHAT ROSIE TOLD THE TAILOR 

A Farce in One Act 
By Edith y. Broomhall 
Seven men, three women; female characters may be played by men if 
desired. Costumes, modern ; scene, an interior. Plays twenty minutes. 
No royalty. If Dick Manners is going to take his girl to ** the game " he 
simply has got to keep that spring suit that the tailor wants back unless 
he has his money. How <' Rosie," Dick's man, brings this about is the 
story of a very easy and effective farrp. Recommended. 

Price, 25 cents 

CONVERTING BRUCE 

A Farce in One Act 
By Edith J. Broornhall 

Two men, two women. Costumes, modern ; scene, an interior. Plays 
twenty minutes. No royalty. Bruce says that all girls are double faced, 
saying one thing to you and another about you. His chum Jack, by an 
ingenious plot, proves to him that even if this is sometimes true Peggy 
Lee is an exception. A very bright, lively and entertaining farce, full of 
" pep " and go. Recommended. 

Price, 2'i'^^^ts 



THE SUBMARINE SHELL 

A War Play in Four Acts 
By Mansfield Scott 

Seven males, four females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two interiors. 
Plays two hours. Royalty for amateur performance ^lo.oo for one, 
$15.00 for two performances. Inspector Malcome Steele, of the U. S. 
Secret Service, devotes himself in this thrilling ]ilay to unravelling th# 
German j^lots that surround Prof. Middlebrook's submarine shell that is t« 
bring the downfall of the Hun. The battle between his wits and those 
of "Tom Cloff," the German secret agent, is of absorbing interest. An 
easy and effective thriller that can be recommended for school performance. 

Price, 35 cents 

CHARACTERS 

Hans Kraft, alias James Detective Albert Bradbury. 

McGrady. Inspector Malcome Steele. 

Otto Herman, alias William. " Tom Cloff." 

Mr. Warren Middlebrook. Mrs. Middlebrook. 

Monsieur Charles LeClair. Eleanor Middlebrook. 

Professor Henry Wester- Margaret Linden. 

berg. Delia. 

SYNOPSIS 

Act I. The living-room. August 11, after dinner. f 

Act II. Same as Act I. August 12, i : 30 p. m. 
Act III. The private laboratory. That evening, 7 : 30. 
Act IV. Same as Act III. Later, 10 p. m. 

THE AMERICAN IDEA 

A Sketch in One Act 
By Lily Carthew 
Three males, two females. Costumes, modern ; scenery, an interior. 

Plays twenty minutes. Royalty for amateur performance $5.00. Migno» 
Goldman, following the American Idea, throws off the parental yoke 
and marries the man of her choice and not the choice of her jiarents. She 
brings home for the parental blessing John Kelly. Abe, her father, is 
disconsolate at this prospect until he sees John and recognizes in him Yan 
Kele Operchinsky, rechristened in accordance with "The American 
Idea." Originally produced at The Peabody Playhouse, Boston. Strongly 
rtcommended. Price, 2^ cents. 

THE CROWNING OF COLUMBIA 

A Patriotic Fantasy in One Act 
By Kathrifie F. Carlyon 

Twenty-five boys and twenty four girls Costumes, modern and 
picturesque. Nothing required in the way of scenery but a platform. 
Plays half an hour or less. Columbia is approached by the Foresters, the 
Farmers, the Miners, the Pleasure Seekers, the Ammunition Workers and 
even the Red Cross Workers, all asking her to be their Queen, but it is 
only when the Soldiers and the Red Cross Nurses come, asking nothing 
and giving all, that she yields. Easy, pretty, timely, and strongly recoiD* 
mended. Introduces music. Price^ 25 centi^ 



MUCH ADO ABOUT BETTY 

A Comedy in Three Acts 
By Walter Ben Hare 
Ten male, twelve female characters, or seven males and seven femftlet 
by doubling. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two easy interiors. Plays a 
full evening. Betty, a moving picture star, going south on a vacation, 
loses her memory from the shock of a railway accident, and is identihed 
as a rival, Violet Ostrich, from a hand-bag that she carries. In this char- 
acter she encounters the real Violet, who has just eloped with Ned O'Hare, 
and mixes things up sadly both for herself and the young couple. An 
exceptionally bright, clever and effective play that can be highly recom- 
mended. Good Negro, Irish and eccentric comedy parts. 

Price, 55 cents 

CHARACTERS 

Lin Leonard, £e«j/'s 07ie ftes« fte^ Ethel'Kohler, a high-school admirer 

Major Jartbke, of Wichita, not only of Betty. 

bent, but crooked. Violet Ostrich, a film favorite, Ned's 

Ned O'Hare, a jolly young honeymooner. bride. 

Mr. E. Z. Ostrich, ivho has ivritten a Mrs. K. M. Diggins, a guest at the Hotel 

wonderful picture-play. Poinsettia. 

Jin. MclSVTT,soUd ivory from the neck tip. Daffodil Diggins, her daughter, "Yes, 

Jim Wiles, a high-school senior. Mamma ! " 

Archie, a black bell-boy at the Hotel Miss Chizzle, one of the Noi'th Georgia 

Poinsettia. Chizzles. 

Officer RiLEY,ii;/io always does his duty. Pearlie Brown, Violet's maid, a widoiv 

Officer Dugan,/j'oj?i tfie Emerald Isle. of ebon hue. 

Mr. Ebenezer O'Harb, a sick man and Violet, Violet Ostrich's little girl aged 

a submerged tenth. seven. 

Mrs. Ebenkzeb O'Hare, "Birdie," the Diamond, Pearlie's little girl aged six 

other nine-tenths. and 

Aunt Winnie, Betty's chaperone. Betty, the star of the Movagraph Co. 
Lizzie Monahan, Betty's maid, with a 

vivid imagination. 

Jartree may double Dugan ; Ned may double Riley ; Jim may double Archfe ; 
lire. O'Hare may double Ethel ; Auut Winnie may double Pearlie and Lizzie 
may double Miss Chizzle, thus reducing the cast to seven males and seven fe- 
males. The two children have no lines to speak. 

SYNOPSIS 

Act I. Betty's apartments near New York. Married in haste. 
Act II. Parlor D of the Hotel Poinsettia, Palm Beech, Fla. Three d»y» lAtar. 
Betty loses her memory. 
Act III. Same scene as Act II. A full honeymoon. 

JUST A LITTLE MISTAKE 

A Comedy in One Act 
Bj/ Elizabeth Gale 
One male, five female characters, or can be played by all girls. Cos- 
tumes, modern; scenery, an easy interior. Plays forty minutes. Mrs. 
Ball receives a cablegram from her sister Lucy stating that Jerry 
will arrive that day and begging her to be cordial. Mrs, Ball then goes 
out to hire a cook, leaving three young friends to receive the unknown 
guest. The cook, sent down from the agency in haste, is greeted and 
entertained as Jerry and when the real Jerry (Miss Geraldine Take) ar- 
rives she is sent out to the kitchen. After considerable confusion and ex- 
citement she is discovered to be the " Little Miss Take." Strongly rec- 
ommended. Price, 2j cents 



LOST— A CHAPERON 

A Comedy in Three Acts by Courtney Bruerton and W. S. Maulaby, 
Six male, nine female characters. Cpstumes, modern; scenery, an in 
terior and an exterior. Plays a full evening. A lot of college girls in 
camp lose their chaperon for twenty-four hours, and are provided by a 
camp of college boys across the lake with plenty of excitement. The parts 
are all good, the situations are very funny and the lines full of laughs. 
Recommended for high-school performance. Price, J5 cents 

THE PRIVATE TUTOR 

A Farce in Three Acts by E. J. Whisler. Five male, three female char- 
acters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, two simple interiors. Plays two hours. 
Tells of the endeavors of two college boys to disguise the fact that they have 
been '* rusticated " from the family of one of them. Hans Dinklederfe'-, 
the leader of a German band, trying to make good in the character of a 
private tutor, is a scream. All the parts are good. A capital high-school 
play. Frice,^^ cents 

THE REBELLION OF MRS. BARCLAY 

A Comedy of Domestic Life in Two Acts by May E. Countryman. 
Three male, six female characters. Costumes, modern ; scenery, easy 
interiors. Plays one hour and three-quarters. A clever and amusing 
comedy with all the parts evenly good. There are many Mr. Barclays all 
over this country, and Mrs. Barclay's method of curing her particular one 
will be sympathetically received. Good Irish comedv parts, male and fe- 
male. Strongly recommended. Price, J5 <^e^i^ 

THE TRAMPS' CONVENTION 

An Entertainment in One Scene for Male Characters Only by Jessie A, 
Kelley. Seventeen male characters. Costumes, typical tramp dress ; 
scenery, unimportant. Plays an hour and a half. An entertainment in 
the vaudeville class, with possibilities of unlimited fun. Music can be in- 
troduced, if desired, though this is not necessary. The opening is very 
funny and original and the finish — The Ananias Club — can be worked up 
to any extent. Strongly recommended. Price, 2^ cents 

THE DAY THAT LINCOLN DIED 

A Play in One Act by Prescott Warren and Will Hutchins. Five male, 
two female characters. Costumes, modern ; scene, an easy exterior. Plays 
thirty minutes. A very effective play suited for a Lincoln Day entertain- 
ment. It offers plenty of comedy, and is a piece that we can heartily 
recommend. Professional stage-rights reserved. Price, 2^ cents 

PA'S NEW HOUSEKEEPER 

A Farce in One Act by Charles S. Bird. Three male, two female char- 
acters. Modern costumes ; scenery, a simple interior or none at all. Plays 
forty minutes. Jack Brown, visiting his chum, is tempted by his success 
in college theatricals to make up in the character of the new housekeeper, 
an attractive widow, who is expected but does not arrive. He takes in 
everybody and mixes things up generally. All the parts are first rate and 
the piece full of laughs. Strongly recommended. Price, 25cents 



»^ 



Plays for Junior High Schools 



^kjifik 



ir 



Males Females Time 



Sally Lunn 

Mr. Bob 

The Man from Braadoa 

A Box of Monkeys 

A Rice Pudding 

Class Day 

Chums 

An Easy Mark 

Pa's New Housekeeper 

Not On the Program 

The Cool Collegians 

The Elopement of Ellen 

Tommy's Wife 

Johnny's New Suit 

Thirty Minutes for Refreshments 

West of Omaha 

The Flying Wedge 

My Brother's Keeper 

The Private Tutor 

Me an' Otis 

Up to Freddie 

My Cousin Timmy 

Aunt Abigail and the Boys 

Caught Out 

Constantine Pueblo Jones 

The Cricket On the Hearth 

The Deacon's Second Wife 

Five Feet of Love 

The Hurdy Gurdy Girl 

Camp Fidelity Girls 

Carroty Nell 

A Case for Sherlock Holmes 

The Clancey Kids 

The Happy Day 

I Grant You Three Wishes 

Just a Little Mistake 

The Land of Night 

Local and Long Distance 

The Original Two Bits 

An Outsider 

Oysters^ 

A Pan of Fudge 

A Peck of Trouble 

A Precious Pickle 

The First National Boot 

His Father's Son 

The Turn In the Road 

A Half Back's Interference 

The Revolving Wedge 

Mose 



BAKER, Hamilton Place, Boston, 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



f 

J Plays and JNovelties Inat Ha\v. ajtcji winners" ^ 

J Males nmaUs Time Price Royalty L 

^ Camp Fidelity Girls 1 1 2}^ hrs. 35c None J 

i Anita's Trial 11 2 " 35c « |> 

J The Farmerette 72" 35c " L 

2 Beliind tlie Scenes 12 i>^ " 35c " f 

5 The Camp Fire Girls 15 2 " 35c " f 

J A Case for Sherlock Holmes 10 i}4 " 35c " j^ 

J The House in Laurel Lane 6 i)4 " 25c " ^ 

1 Her First Assignment 10 i " 25c " f 
J I Grant You Three Wishes 14 H " 25c " L 

2 Joint Owners in Spain 4 >^ " 35c i^S-oo [^ 
T Marrying Money 4 X " 25c None f 
J The Original Two Bits 7 >^ " 25c " |^ 
J The Over-AHs Club 10 ^ « 25c " [T 
X Leave it to Polly 11 i^ " 35c " f 
ij The Rev. Peter Brice, Bachelor 7 }4 " 25c " W 
2 Mfss Fearless & Co. 10 2 " 35c " IT 
% A Modern Cinderella 16 i^ « 35c «♦ f 
J Theodore, Jr. 7 j^ " 25c " t 
J Rebecca's Triumph 16 2 " 35c «' jT 
5 Aboard a Slow Train in Mizzoury 8 14 2;^ " 35c " f 
J Twelve Old Maids 15 i " 25c " k 
2 An Awkward Squad 8 X " 25c '« f 
5 The Blow Up of Algernon Blow 8 j<^ " 25c " R* 

4 The Boy Scouts 20 2 " 35c " |k 
: A Close Shave 6 >^ " 25c « ^ 

5 The First National Boot 7 2 i «' 25c " f 
i A Half =■ Back's Interference 10 ^ " 25c ' " % 

2 His Father's Son 14 ^^ " 35^ " t 
i The Man With the Nose 8 )4 " 25c " f 
^ On the Quiet 12 i;^ " 35c " |l 
j The People's Money 11 i^ " 25c " f 
^ A Regular Rah ! Rah ! Boy 14 ^H " 35<^ " * 
i A Regular Scream 11 ^H " 35^ " ^ 
jj Schraerecase in School 9 i " 25c " L 
5 The Scoutmaster 10, 2 " 35c " r 
i The Tramps' Convention 17 i'A " 25c " k 
^ The Turn in the Road 9 i}4 " 25c " . 
1 Wanted— a Pitcher 11 >^ " 25c " r 
i What They Did for Jenkins 14 2 " 25c " j» 
J Aunt Jerusha's Quilting Party 4 12 iX " 25c " C 
i The District School at Blueberry f 
^ Corners 12 17 i " 25c «' )i 
J The Emigrants' Party 24 10 i *• 25c " y 
T Miss Prim's Kindergarten 10 1 1 i ^ " 25c " * 
4 A Pageant of History Any number 2 " 35c " Jl 

3 The Revel of the Year " " X " 25c " i. 
T Scenes in the Union Depot " " i " 25c " " 

4 Taking the Census in Bingville 14 8 i>^ " 25c " j» 
J The Village Post-Office 22 20 2 " 35c *i »- 
1 O'Keefe's Circuit 12' cS i>^ " 35c " r 

i BAKER, Hamilton Place, Boston, Mass* ? 

i > 

1811623 



